Cold Fluorescence
by Phoenix Massing
Summary: Walk through style narrative spanning the events of ME2 up to Shepard's incarceration on Earth. FemShep/Garrus pairing; Shepard and Garrus struggle to come to terms with her death, resurrection and consequential emotions.
1. Chapter I

_Author's Note: This fic was overhauled/edited/partially re-written on 2/16/15._

This work is the culmination of a few weeks of reading inspiration, several ME2 and ME3 playthroughs, and a serious obsession with the Garrus/FemShep relationship. I've written several parts of this walkthrough, which means I'll be updating on a regular. I plan on breaking this into three different parts: ME2 up to Shepard's incarceration on Earth; ME3 up until the defeat of the Reapers; and possibly a work with several chapters of "after".

There is a heavy focus on the mental aspects of both Shepard and Garrus, both coming to terms with how Shepard's death has changed them. In this I have tried really hard to maintain Garrus as, well, the Garrus that I know and love. There won't be too much fluff.

All mistakes made are mine; I'm in serious need of a beta. As always, reviews are welcome. I would really like to hear what people want to read.

This story will probably get dark. M rated accordingly.

All characters belong to Bioware.

* * *

The cool metal crate against his back was a welcome comfort against the broiling Omega air. Heat sinks littered the floor around his bunker, along with food wrappers and miscellaneous drink containers. Cocking his rifle, he rested the back of his helmet against the crate and sighed. The air was heavy with heat and humidity, weighing down on his shoulders like a heavy blanket.

With the grace of an apex predator, he slunk around his cover, raising his sniper against his shoulder, a practiced move, like the caress of a lover. The visor over his left eye was seeking out heat signatures, vital signs, targets. His right eye was staring down the scope, the cross-hairs coming to a rest over the helmet of a merc. With a slow exhale, he squeezed the trigger and watched the enemy go down, to him, only a small hint of satisfaction. Two years ago, he would be keeping a kill tally. Now, everything but this moment was a dark stain in the back of his mind.

He quietly mused he wouldn't mind going out this way. He knew the bridge would offer him the best position to hold off the mercs alone, but he had boxed himself in. Between shots he registered his fatigue; muscles that just wouldn't respond quite the way he wanted them to. His trigger finger was heavy in his glove, the effort of holding the rifle to his shoulder was becoming a burden.

Another heat sink clattered to the floor as he cocked the gun again. Through the scope, he surveyed the lower level. He knew the gunship would be back eventually, and with no more grenades, he also knew his chances had fallen to slim to none. In the deep recesses of his mind, his mortality gave a violent shudder.

His visor alerted him to another wave incoming, and he lined up a shot. In an impressive spray of red, a yellow-armored bastard went , he thought to himself. Most of the freelancers the Blue Suns and Eclipse had been contracting recently were of the human variety. Fodder for distraction, they threw themselves at him in wave of desperation, their lives snuffed out with a single crack of his rifle. Worth the 500 credits? he thought bitterly to himself as his rifle sang out again. They just keep coming. His scope followed a cluster of four, cowering behind metal crates for cover. His angle was just about right, and lined up another head in his cross-hairs, finger resting lightly on the trigger. The merc's chest exploded. The sniper raised his head, confused; the bullet had never left his gun.

Three well-armored freelancers advanced on the cluster of mercs, plowing them down with several retorts of their pistols. He cocked his head to the side, watching through his scope. Three humans, with enough credits to procure real armor, and enough training to be an organized force. He expelled the heat sink from his sniper and loaded a concussion round, firing. It hit the leader square in the shoulder, but the figure didn't hesitate, charging forward. Better to act as if they aren't friendly…but just in case.

When the fourth merc went down, he watched them advance across the bridge. The one in front, female human, moved with the practiced grace of an infiltrator. He could see her own sniper rifle strapped to her back, muzzle peeking over the shoulder of her armor. Even from a distance, he could tell her eyes were sweeping the area, looking not only for danger, but for cover, a vantage point. Constantly assessing. There was something predatory in her movements, her gait lithe and smooth. He shook his head to try and clear his vision, and put his eye back to the scope.

He was seeing a ghost.

They were halfway across the bridge when he began to feel his heart race. The human female's dark hair glowed in the red light of the room, falling slickly across her face where it had worked free of the braid. Look up here. Let me see you, he urged, gripping the stock of his rifle like a vice. Three-quarters of the way across the bridge, as they are about to cross into the room underneath his perch, she raised her head and looked up at his position.

His heart stopped.

Grey eyes stared up at him, pinpointing his location, and she signaled her team to move.

She's...alive?

His self-preservation, shoved deep and packed away in the dark recesses of his mind, struggled to emerge through the fog of self-loathing and baser instincts. Almost all of his willpower had been focused on taking out as many of the enemy as possible before going down in a blaze of glory. He had been ready, fighting against instinctual self-preservation. But this ghost, this apparition in black armor cut through the hatred and remorse, blazing a shining path of hope that caught him in its glow.

Taking several deep breaths, he forced himself to focus. He would allow them to come up; he had about thirty seconds to figure out exactly what the hell was happening. Another wave of mercs crossed his scope, and he loaded a heat sink into his rifle, making it sing. Two shots rang out in staccato, and as the last merc dropped, he listened for their footsteps behind him.

"Archangel?"

He held up a gloved hand in a "one second" gesture, and lined up another merc in his crosshairs. Forcing his trigger finger to obey, he fired and his target dropped.

Taking another calming breath, his mind spun in bewilderment. He used the butt of his rifle as a crutch and stood, uncurling all six and a half feet of his armored figure. Fatigue had melted into pure adrenaline, causing him to still his trembling hands. He leaned the muzzle of the gun against his shoulder and sat down casually on a crate, calmly, calmly, assessing the people in front of him.

A stocky, well-muscled man with dark skin and calculating eyes; a tall woman, figure wrapped in a skin-tight uniform, emanating an air of superiority; and their leader. She was shorter than her comrades, but with an aura that spoke of quiet power. Tan skin, high cheekbones burnished dark by the red lights. Her ochre hair was drawn into a thick braid, pulled back from her face, grey eyes smoldering with determination. An apparition personified, standing before him in the flesh.

His mind reeled back to the last time he had seen her, shaking his hand in front of C-Sec headquarters, still glowing from their triumph over Saren. She had been so utterly alive in that moment; it was impossible to even fathom death having the upper hand on her. And yet, there had been the announcement, and the funeral with an empty casket. The two years of pain and mourning bleeding together into a string of hazy memories.

But she was here, standing before him, very much alive. So alive that her figure almost glowed with pent up energy. There was no tetchiness to her, just calm resolve wrapped in a current of determination. She was assessing him, eyes traveling over his languid figure. An edge of apprehension drew the corners of her mouth down, but there was almost a look of hope glimmering in those grey eyes. Her female comrade cleared her throat impatiently, shattering his ruminations.

Unlatching his helmet, he cradled it to his side, a roguish smile on his face.

"Shepard," he said, the name tasting unfamiliar in his mouth.

"Garrus?" her voice was quiet and calm, even in surprise.

"I thought you were dead."

"I was."

* * *

Blue had always been her favorite color. It was the color of the sky on Earth, the color of a lake cradled between mountains. But there was blue everywhere, and all she could see in it was loss.

Garrus' indigo blood still covered her hands. As she watched Doctor Chakwas and Jacob lay the turian on a hospital table, the door between the mess hall and med bay hissed shut. The last image she saw was his visor, flashing bright as a star.

"Shit. Shit." The expletives tripped off her tongue quietly, burning her mouth in their wake. She strode across the room and leaned her hands against the kitchen island, trying to control her emotions. Blood dripped slowly onto the metal floor. Each drop sounded like a bomb, or the tick of those old analog clocks sold as novelties at the Citadel. Ticking time away. Ticking life away. She had tried to staunch the flow, ripping off her gloves and cupping his damaged face in her hands. His eyes had stared up at here, fogged over. Blue.

"Commander," Jacob exited the medbay with a solemn look on his face. "You should go clean up. Chakawas said it could be a while before she could patch him up." He gave her a look, wanting to say more. Reverting back into military bluntness, he grew still. "It doesn't look good."

"Thanks, Jacob." Shepard ran her hands through her hair, only to realize they were still bloodied. "It's just a waiting game, now." She tucked the sticky strands behind her ears and dashed a hand across her eyes. The smell and smog of Omega lingered on her skin, and turian blood was cold on her face.

"He's a tough son of a bitch." Jacob clapped a hand on her shoulder.

I know, Shepard said silently. It sounded like a prayer.

Up in her quarters, she stared into the mirror. Her face was not only filthy from sweat, but the streaks of vibrant blood shone against her skin. She leaned in closer, studying the color against her tan cheeks. It was a striking reminder of her comrade's mortality, and she raced across the room and smacked the button, turning the shower on with a hiss of hot water. Buckles snapped as she removed her armor in record time. Under the clinical-like lights in the bathroom, she could see droplets of blue splashed across her black gauntlets.

Under the scalding water, she watched Garrus' blood flow down the drain, and she leaned her forehead against the wall.

I've found him, and now I may lose him. Her fingers scratched at the metal confines of the shower. I don't think I can do this without him.

The new Normandy was beautiful, a sleek homage to her predecessor. A marriage of human and turian design, Joker's wildest wet dream. However, in the two months since she had regained consciousness, it had yet to feel like home. Her cabin was large and luxurious, complete with a giant fish tank that provided her ambient blue lighting when her lack of dreams shook her from restless sleep.

For the first time since waking up on the cold operating table in that Cerberus lab, Shepard felt fragile. There had been pain, yes. A sensation when learning to breathe again, lungs inflating on their own accord. The scars that covered her face, her arms, her legs, were proof to two years lost. Humpty dumpty sat on a wall, she recited the old Earth nursery rhyme in her mind as she shut the water off and stepped out. Humpty dumpty had a great fall. She wrapped a towel around herself, shivering.

All the king's horses and all the king's men, couldn't put Humpty together again.

Except, they did.

Roused from the dead like some sort of Frankenstein Jesus, come again to save the galaxy. Commander fucking Shepard, savior of us all. She wrung her hair out on the rug and braided it back out of her face. Two years on an operating table had meant two years of neglected haircuts, and her brunette locks were out of Alliance regs.

But I'm not Alliance anymore. She threw on a clean uniform, took a steadying breath, and pinged the elevator.

"EDI," she said quietly. The AI's holographic interface flickered into view beside her. "Tell Jacob to meet me in the comm room. We need to discuss the last mission."

"Of course, Commander." The holo flickered off.

Time to ante up, Shepard.

In the comm room, she leaned against the table, the picture of calm and collected. Jacob entered through the door, data pad in hand.

"Commander, we've done everything we could for Garrus, but the damage was...extensive."

Her face betrayed nothing of what she was feeling, and merely replied with a curt nod.

"Doctor Chakwas repaired his injuries with surgery and some cybernetics," he continued, assessing her reaction. "We think he'll have full functionality, but-"

The door hissed open. Standing on the threshold in ragged blue armor, Garrus locked eyes with Shepard. She let herself smile, heart leaping in her chest.

"Nobody would give me a mirror," he groused, stepping into the room with his typical swagger. "How bad is it?"

After seeing his blood vibrant on her hands, mandible and throat mangled, he looked perfect to her. A white bandage covered most of the right side of his jaw, and his expressions look lopsided, only the left exposed. He flashed her the turian equivalent of a small smile, showing teeth.

"Hell, Garrus, you were always ugly," she said softly. Her mouth smiled around the words. "Slap some face paint on there and no one will notice." The vibrant blue clan markings that mapped his face looked stark against his grey skin. His demeanor lent nothing amiss, except the apprehension and pain in his eyes raked over her.

"Hah! Oh. Don't make me laugh." He gingerly touched the bandage with his hand. "My face is barely holding together as it is…" his left mandible flared into an unmistakable grin. "Although maybe it's a blessing in disguise. Some women find facial scars attractive. Of course, most of those women are krogan."

Jacob, unflappable as ever, shook his head at Garrus, saluted Shepard and made his exit. As the door hissed shut behind him, the atmosphere in the comm room thickened. Shepard straightened up, analyzing the turian in front of her. His armor was a disaster – the rocket impact had made the right side look like Swiss cheese, the proud Vakarian blue scraped away to reveal black ceramic underneath. His eyes swept over her, and she knew what he was thinking. Part of her wanted to reach out and touch him, but instead clasped her hands behind her back and cocked her head.

"Cerberus?" he spit the word out like an expletive. She could feel the tension radiating off of him in waves. Here was the Garrus she knew, rising above, reverting back into his C-Sec persona. This was an interrogation, one that she did not feel like participating in. Not with the image of his ruined face so fresh in her mind.

"It's a…long story," she said quietly. Behind her back, she balled her hands into fists, her nails digging into her palms.

"I look forward to hearing it." It was his turn to cock his head at her, studying. He knew her, regardless of how hard she steeled herself against wayward emotions. She knew he was trying to get a read on her. It had been one of his habits, before. Shaking the emotions out of her, whether she wanted them to be known or not. "If you need me, I'll be in the forward battery."

"You and big guns," she said around a crooked smile.

He relaxed, and took a step towards her, hovering slightly, indecisive. "Oh Commander, you know I love my toys. Besides, these bastards probably screwed up the calibrations." With a cocky grin, he turned and left.

* * *

Her scent was the same. Garrus ran a hand along the console in the main battery, but only half of his mind was on algorithms. He could smell her tension, her exhaustion. And his blood on her. His face hurt, and he tried to piece together his journey back onto the Normandy. Searing pain, Shepard's hands on his face, her eyes wide in fear. Blood in his throat, metallic and hot. His calm and collected commander hovering over him, repeating his name.

Two years I've been drifting like a moon without a planet, and here you are.

For two years he had mourned the loss of his commander, his mentor, his best friend. Processing the fact that she was alive… he didn't know how to handle it. So many times he watched bullets ricochet off her armor, watched her line up a shot and take it so damn perfectly he would whoop in celebration. Her quiet, assessing demeanor was the same. Like the vids of those extinct panthers back on Earth, she could lie in wait, black armor shining, her body making a lithe line from her boots to the tip of her sniper rifle. Garrus had never thought humans to be predators, until he met Shepard.

"Officer Vakarian," EDI's holo blipped up on the console. "Doctor Chakwas would like me to remind you that you need to eat."

Garrus narrowed his eyes at the AI. "Oh yeah?" he quipped, gingerly touching his face again.

"She advises that your significant blood loss may lead to light headedness, vertigo and fatigue. She has recommended that Gardener prepare you an appropriate dextro-amino meal."

"Well, I guess I can't say no to a good meal. Probably beats the crap I've been eating on Omega."

"I would not count on it." EDI's holo disappeared.

Garrus shook his head and sighed. Fucking Cerberus.

The tension in the mess was palpable. Garrus could taste the apprehension rolling off of his shipmates. Ignoring them, he struck up a conversation with Mess Sargent Gardener, a gruff man with a wicked sense of humor and quick wit. If he had an aversion to alien crewmates, he did a good job hiding it. Mostly Garrus was thankful Gardener knew how to prepare dextro-amino food, regardless of how badly it tasted.

"It's all frozen rations and shit that comes in packets," Gardener said, passing Garrus a plate of lumpy brown mush. "Hopefully if we make a trip to the Citadel, I can talk Commander Shepard into spending some of Cerberus' credits on decent food."

"As long as you wash your hands after you clean the toilets, I'll eat whatever you cook," Garrus said. Eating with his sore face was slow going, and the texture of the food in front of him was sloppy and awkward.

"Ha ha. Turian has a sense of humor, apparently." Gardener brandished a spoon at him. "Keep it up and you can cook your own meals."

Garrus shook his head and flared his intact mandible. "Thanks, Gardener. Next time try and make it less sticky and more food-like." Gardener barked a laugh in reply.

Back in the battery, he sat on his cot, head in his hands. The food was a lump in his stomach, feeling heavy, and his face throbbed. How many hours has he been on the ship? A day? An eternity? He wanted to go looking for Shepard, but he knew better. Too many things needed to be discussed...and her head was somewhere else. A few of the crew in the mess had talked about the Illusive Man sending her dossiers, and Garrus snapped his teeth together at the mental image of her at her desk, nose buried in her terminal. No doubt studying everything in detail, combing through all the pros and cons.

He laid down and tried to sleep, but he was still too wired from the events of the day. He sat up and started shucking his armor, making a mental note to purchase something new the next time they were docked. Nimble fingers made quick work of the buckles on his gauntlets, and chest piece, until he was down to just his greaves, boots and thin, under layer of skinweave fabric. Dried blood was caked on his chest where it must have dripped off his injured face, pooled on the ridge of his keel bone. He grabbed a cleaning cloth and started to work, rubbing in circular, methodical motions. His right gauntlet was cracked almost all the way through. No doubt some internal reflex caused him to throw his hand up to block the rocket. Instead, he had caught it with his face.

Chuckling to himself, he picked up the chest piece and started to clean it, even though it too was beyond repair. Rotating the ceramic plate, something caught his eye in the dim light of the battery. A small hand print in dried blood shined up at him, and he closed his eyes, not even bothering to stifle the sad subvocal crooning that escaped through his teeth. Shepard, no doubt, trying to help him, frantic but not showing it, barking orders at Miranda and Jacob, holding his face together in her hands. He had smelled his blood on her in the comm room. A deep, primal part of him wondered what that shade of blue looked like against her tan skin.

The door hissing open made him jump. He stopped his assessment of his abused armor to look up at the figure in the doorway. His breath caught in his throat; her scent flooded the area and assaulted his senses. She was real, she was alive.

"Officer Vakarian," she said quietly, stepping into the room. She was dressed in uniform, all business. But he knew better. He could taste her tension in the air, and set his armor aside.

"Shepard." Her name sounded like a confession. For the second time in two years he said it out loud, savoring the way it rolled off his tongue.

"You look like hell." Her eyes swept across his face, down to his bloodied, armor-less chest. "May I?" she said, gesturing to a crate across from his cot.

"Your ship," he answered, flaring his good mandible in amusement. The atmosphere in the room dipped, becoming cold and tense. She was tightly wound, ready to snap. Every muscle in her body was taut, causing her shoulders to hunch, a very un-Shepard-like posture.

"Yeah. I guess it is." She settled herself lightly on the crate, crossing her legs. Garrus let himself relax a fraction, studying her.

"Look…Shepard…" he fumbled over his words, which only made his face hurt more. She held up a hand to silence him.

"Don't. I get it. Cerberus, the new Normandy, hell…me being alive…I don't know exactly what to say, but I get it. It's been two months for me and I still haven't been able to process it all."

"Two months?" his question sounded like an accusation, and he saw her flinch. "You've been back for two months and I didn't know. Damn, Shepard."

She gave him a pensive look. There was a flicker of emotion crossing her face; shame, maybe? It was difficult to tell with her. She was one who wore the proverbial commander mask, face wiped free of any emotion, calm, cool and confident. Always had been. He had made it his personal mission on the SR-1 to draw any semblance of reaction from her.

"You were too busy playing god on Omega to know."

"Hmm. Maybe I'll retract my statement. You may now refer to me only as Archangel." He shuffled his legs farther apart and leaned his elbows on his thighs.

"Over my dead body."

They both laughed, and he felt an invisible, magnetic pull. Her quiet, calm aura permeated his space, radiating energy. Garrus knew her better than anyone, but his body's reaction to her proximity was perplexing. How many times had they bunkered down under cover together, sharing space, knocking armored shoulders? They had perfected tossing her up to higher vantage points. He had watched her six while she prowled across open territory, SMG in hand. Her every movement had been etched in his memory, and kept him company on the dark nights when he wasn't quite sure what the hell he was supposed to be doing with himself.

"I asked about you," she said quietly. "The Illusive Man said even he couldn't track you down. I'm still trying to figure out if that was a lie, or that you're just such a badass at disappearing, even Cerberus couldn't find you." She cocked her head, and her braid fell forward heavily, hanging down across her shoulder. In her Alliance days, it had been pulled back in a tight knot at the nape of her neck. The flyaway bits softened the sharp angles of her face.

Shepard allowed herself to sigh, body slackening. "I can't do this without you, Garrus." Her confession rang in his ears, even though it was no more than a whisper. Never had she let the facade slip for him; she was cracking, shifting in so many ways he couldn't peg down one emotion from another.

"Of course you can't. Well, at least not as stylishly."

She smiled, and looked at him with those grey eyes. When she spoke, her voice was no more than a whisper. "I found you, and then I thought I was going to lose you."

He saw the shudder that ripped through her body, and every inch of him yearned to comfort her, even if he didn't know how. But he sat like a good turian, and let his commanding officer continue.

"I woke up on a table in a Cerberus lab, and everything hurt." She stood up and started to pace, clutching her arms around her chest. It perturbed him to see her so shaken, and instinctually he tensed, nervous. After two years of mourning, living with her shadow, giving life to her memory after all the booze was gone from the bottle, the smallest shred of him had clung to the hope that she was out there, somewhere. But this, a revelation that she had risen up against death itself; he wasn't sure if he wanted to hear it.

"I got spaced, Garrus. I was dead." Her eyes found his, and her shoulders shook with the sheer effort of holding herself together. "And then I woke up. Lawson and I made it out of the lab, and they gifted me with a new, improved Normandy and Joker as the bow on top." She tightened her hands into fists, and the scars across her knuckles glowing faintly, like hellfire encased in soft skin. "No time to process this, just 'Commander, defeat the Collectors. Commander, save the galaxy. Commander, try not to die, you're worth four billion credits'. I was dead, and I was brought back, and I have no idea what the fuck I am supposed to do."

Her eyes found his, filled with a dark, deep sadness that consumed every cell in his body. She was begging for him to help her, to tell her what to do, anything. Something in him snapped. Every restraint etched into his conscience fell away, and with it the stoicism he worked so hard to keep. With inhuman swiftness he crossed the space of the room, pulling her to him. Holding her made everything vivid, slipping into focus. For the first time since the destruction of the Normandy, he blinked, vision clearing. No more foggy edges of memories, no red-tinged hatred searing the back of his mind. Just her. Alive.

He was surprised when she didn't resist and let him support her weight. He rested his chin on the top of her head, her arms finding his waist, leaning her weight into him.

"You're Commander Shepard," he growled, subvocals adding a bass tone to his lament that vibrated through her body. "You don't have to know what to do. You just do it." She reached up to cup the injured side of his face, gently, and he leaned into her hand. A simple gesture that stripped the boundaries between them. I missed you, he thought, recalling the last time he had been this close to her. After Saren, when she said goodbye. Words exchanged over the top of half-full whiskey tumblers, promises made to keep in touch. A fleeting touch of her hand to his face, and a soft smile he had never seen before. In that hurried moment, he stopped thinking of her as merely his commander, turian stoicism be damned.

Her eyes softened and she smiled. "There's no Shepard without Vakarian."

"How else do you think you've made it this far?" he quipped, stepping away from her. "I've been dragging your ass out of the line of fire since we met."

"Yeah, yeah." She waved a hand dismissively, grinning. "Don't forget who saved your ass after you tried to eat a rocket."

"I have to say, it may have tasted better than whatever Gardener has been cooking…"

The last thing he heard was her laugh as the door closed behind her.


	2. Chapter II

After waking up in that Cerberus lab, Shepard lost her faith.

Space travel and FLT flight were enough to take someone and twist them into an agnostic being. The space between stars was empty and void. Long stretches of downtime between mass relay jumps were often filled with friendly banter or muscle clenching anxiety, depending on the destination. There were plenty of quiet night cycles to consider the various problems of the universe, plot revenge, or contemplate one's mortality.

As the explosion hurled her off the Normandy, it took Shepard approximately five seconds to realize she was going to die. How many times had she looked death in the face and laughed? Countless battles, missions, filled with slip-ups and way too many close calls. However, each time she emerged victorious; regardless of how beaten and bruised her body was, she still had her life.

As she drifted through the vacuum, watching the corpse of the Normandy burn, she prayed. She wasn't sure to whom, or what. But as her respirator tubes blew, and nothing but the sound of her panicked breath filling her ears, she prayed she would live.

And then, darkness.

Subjecting a person to sit in a silent room had been a favorite interrogation tactic of C-Sec since its culmination. Many people would rather wash out than be alone with their thoughts. Silence had a way of being deafening, pressing on your eyes and ears until your mind started to conjure images. Part of Spectre training involved a recruit to successfully complete 24 hours in The Cave without food or water, and keep their sanity intact. It was never the brutal physical trials or combat simulators that weeded out the weak. It was always The Cave. Many cracked after just a few hours, to be pulled out and sent packing. Those who made it an entire day were rewarded with advancement, but only those who had no demons to whisper to them in the silence kept their mental integrity.

Being dead had been dark. There was no flash of light, no pearly white gate, no bearded, omnipotent man to welcome her to heaven. Death was a void, or at least from what she could tell. The Lazarus Project had lasted almost two years, and she was still unsure on when exactly her body was recovered and reanimated. But during the time when she was sure she had been dead, there was a great nothingness that haunted her dreams more than the cries of her comrades who had given their lives in the Skylian Blitz.

After dying, Shepard found the act of sleeping to be terrifying. Her dreams had not returned; she had yet to dream since her death. Unsure of if it was a side effect or if Cerberus was slowly trying to drive her to madness, she found it difficult to willingly embrace the void of unconsciousness. From the moment she slipped into sleep until the suffocating darkness threw her awake, she was lost.

If her crew noticed how haggard and worn she was, they made no mention of it. Her battle skills were sharp, and becoming sharper as she acclimated to her new and improved body. She found that twenty minute intervals of sleep were tolerable, but her REM cycle was off, and her mental state was suffering.

On a particularly difficult night, when even the blue glow from her fish tank became too haunting, Shepard found herself wandering the crew deck, rummaging for a midnight snack. As she searched the cooling unit for a yogurt, the soft click of boots on mental flooring made her freeze, spoon in mouth and yogurt in hand.

"And here we see the commander in her natural habitat, foraging for food." The soft, flanging voice was calming. Shepard smiled around the spoon clenched between her teeth. She shut the cooling unit and turned to see her turian officer sauntering towards her, free of armor.

"Oh look – she has seen something! A predator, perhaps? She will defend her yogurt to the death, if need be." Garrus leaned his elbows against the counter between them, assessing her state of undress: N7 sweatpants that now were dangerously loose, regulation tank top, and out of regulation hair swept up in a nest on the top of her head. She leaned against the counter next to the cooling unit and peeled open her yogurt.

"Have you been watching National Geographic vids?" she quipped, licking her spoon indecently. "Who showed those to you? They're ancient."

"Joker wanted to show me something called a 'bald eagle'. Said he thought it might be my brother or cousin or something. Personally, I like to think I'm a lot more- what's the word I'm looking for here, Shepard? A dinosaur?" Garrus shook his head, surveying her lean frame.

"You don't look like a bird or a dinosaur, Vakarian." She brandished her spoon at him, and under the harsh mess hall light he could see the gauntness in her cheeks, the dark circles under her eyes. "You look like a turian. An ugly turian, maybe, but it's not fair that Joker compares you to extinct earth animals."

"And you look like a commander who looks like death warmed over. Oh wait…"

She narrowed her eyes and stuck her tongue out, something Garrus found utterly amusing.

"Shepard…" sauntering around the island, he closed the space between them and planted himself directly in front of her, arms crossed, leaning his weight on one hip. "I know you're alive, but are you okay?"

There were only about twelve inches of open air between them, and Shepard realized that she had never seen her turian officer completely out of armor. Aware that being around a mostly human crew put him in a different place comfort-wise, she was surprised to see him shirtless, wearing only loose black pants tucked neatly into his boots. Their close proximity allowed her to peak in curiosity at the subtle changes that had happened between her death and finding him on Omega. He was taller, which she still couldn't believe was possible. Even leaning, he hovered a good foot over her, and if she didn't know him, she might have been intimidated. His chest and shoulders had filled out, he was broader and well-muscled. Vaguely, she wondered if turians ever stopped growing, or if they got fat with old age. She knew Garrus was close to thirty, the same as her, in his prime.

Shirtless, she was able to see his healing injuries. The rocket that had almost taken his life had also taken the skin from the right side of his jaw down to his chest. Where there had once been silvery blue flesh, it was now raw looking and dark mauve, and his right mandible was chipped and bloody. She wanted to reach out and touch his marred skin, but thought better of it. She still wasn't sure how he felt about his injuries, or his commanding officer playing out her curiosity of turian anatomy with him.

"Varren got your tongue, or are you speechless from my good looks?" he quipped, and she was sure that if he had eyebrows, he would have wiggled them at her suggestively.

"Just thinking how I've never seen you out of your armor," she admitted quietly, scraping the bottom of her yogurt container.

"Apparently you humans find 'nudity' to be scandalous, so I figured it's best if I don't start fights over my perfect body."

She snorted in her yogurt cup, well aware that turian nudity contained no real, well, nudity. Unless there was copulation involved, all of his…man parts were stored safety away behind radiation resistant plating at his groin. Just another way she believed turians to be superior to humans. A well-placed kick to a man's groin and down they would go. A well-placed kick to a turian groin and you ended up in the med bay with a broken foot and bruised ego.

She knew he was trying to get a rise out of her, and she knew that he was aware she was not intimidated by him. Not one bit. His proximity to her in the battery, his proximity to her now; it had woken something dark and warm in the recesses of her body. Two can play at this game. Dropping her yogurt cup in the compactor next to him, she closed the space between them.

"I'm fine," she said quietly, looking up at him through her lashes. "And so are you, Vakarian." She ran her hand down the injured side of his face. With a smile, she turned on her heel, and stalked out of the mess to the elevator, leaving a very confused-looking turian behind her.

* * *

"I am so sick of these goddamn bugs!" Jack screamed, blasting a Collector apart with a violent burst of biotic energy. It exploded in a vicious spray of green blood, splattering both Shepard and Garrus. Their mission to Horizon, a colony now looming empty in the shadow of a Collector ship, had been chaotic and downright creepy since the moment they stepped off the shuttle.

Shepard was running on about an hour of sleep, and struggling to not let it show. Twice she had taken a shot to her armor; already she could feel her shoulder bruising, hardsuit dispensing medigel to the site. Mentally crossing her fingers that nobody noticed, she plowed ahead, giving orders over their radios.

"Shepard, Collector at four o' clock," Garrus' flanging voice said quietly in her earpiece, and she took aim with her pistol, splattering more Collector over her armor.

Shepard had stationed him above them on the top of a prefab lab pod, surveying the scene spread out below. Archangel, watching my six. She didn't need to turn and search for his lean frame to know he would be stretched out as low as possible, ruined cheek and mandible resting against the stock of his sniper, carefully watching her through his scope.

As a sort of welcome home present, she had pressed a beautifully powerful scope into his three-fingered hand, brushing off his insistence that she take it for herself. Purchased on Omega, she wasn't sure if it was entirely legal, but Garrus had never been one to ask too many questions about flashy weapon mods. This was the Terminus Systems, after all.

Watching him remove his old scope and work to install the new one, she admired the dexterity of his big hands. She was curled up on the edge of his cot, a cup of cocoa in her hands. She had started to steal naps in the battery, on the excuse that the noise from the CIC below her quarters kept her awake, but really, she was damn scared of sleeping alone in a room for more than twenty minutes. Garrus was more than happy to oblige her, because he knew it meant that she would actually sleep, and her gentle breathing was soothing as he ran his calibration algorithms.

More than once he had watched in wonder at her slipping into unconsciousness, small frame curled up amongst pillows and blankets.

"I used to want to learn to paint," Garrus mused, taking down a Collector that had snuck up and flanked Shepard. "Now, I paint the walls with Collector blood."

"You probably get paid more as a vigilante," Shepard answered breathlessly, vaulting over a crate. "Ever heard the term 'starving artist?'"

"Will you two cut the chit chat and shoot shit?" Jack exclaimed, turning to give her commander and exasperated stare. She shot another dirty look in Garrus' general direction, and he laughed.

"Sorry Jack, but I have to talk Shepard through missions involving Collectors, or else she'll run away scared."

Ignoring the chaos around her, Shepard stood upright and flipped Garrus a finger she was positive he could see in his shiny new scope. It only elicited a bigger laugh from the turian.

They had been slogging their way through wave after wave of enemies in search of the anti-airship turret controls in an attempt to take down the looming Collector ship. It was messy, hot and frustrating work, and the commander was feeling her lack of sleep in every muscle.

"I see the damn tower," Jack said, sprinting to a platform. Shepard caught up to her, holstering her pistol and surveying the console.

"EDI, can you get the GARDIAN turrets online?"

"Yes Shepard, but it will take some time for me to gain control."

"Great," Jack sighed. "That means more bugs."

"Enemies incoming. I suggest you prepare accordingly." EDI said.

Shepard dove to cover behind a crate, hoping that Garrus was still safe and sound on his vantage point. Beside her she could hear Jack grunt with every pulse of biotic energy she sent at the Collector drones.

"Shepard," Garrus whispered in her ear, and her heart rate spiked at the tone in her voice. Fear. "There is a very angry-looking, flaming Collector at your nine."

She turned and brought her pistol up to aim, and paused in shock. The Collector drone she had been targeting was levitating, smoldering with toxic-looking flames.

"ASSUMING CONTROL."

The voice emanating from the Collector shook Shepard to her very core, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. Panic bubbled in her stomach, and she fought to keep control of her breathing.

"Garrus," she whispered, and he answered with a loud crack of his rifle. It ripped through the drone, square between four eyes, the incendiary ammunition igniting its fallen body.

"Always watching you, Shepard," his voice was tense, and she could hear his undertones of stress.

"Shepard," Jack yelled, eyes wide. "Another one of those bugs is doing that creepy on fire thing!"

A drone to her three twitched, smoldering in midair.

"Garrus!" she shouted, louder this time.

His answer was another crack of his sniper, and the drone went down in a spray of gore. He expelled the heat sink in a flash, swearing quietly.

"Shepard," he barked, and she could now clearly hear the panic in his voice. "There is something very large and fast heading towards you."

Shepard spun, and saw a Praetorian barreling towards them, multiple eyes shining with a malicious blue light.

"EDI, we need that system online!" she yelled, stumbling backwards and spraying the creature with gunfire.

"GARDIAN anti-ship batteries at 100%. I have control." In answer, the long turret guns swiveled and fired at the Collector ship with a satisfying boom.

"Shep!" Jack yelled, spiriting back to her position. "What the fuck is that thing?"

The Praetorian hovered in front of the comm tower, maw open, exposing the husk corpses lining its innards. Shepard couldn't hear over the blood pounding in her ears, but she was sure the husks were moaning. Sharp, spindly legs twitched as the creature advanced on her position, four eyes glowing with vibrant blue light. It moved in an almost wasp-like fashion as it advanced forward. A crackling blue energy burst from its eyes, and Shepard had just enough time to shoulder roll behind a metal crate.

Over the metallic sound of the creature's laser, she could hear the crack of Garrus' rifle as he tried to whittle its barrier down. Each bullet only seemed to be making it angrier, and it slammed its massive body to the ground, sending a shockwave of biotic energy towards the two women.

Jack, with her sharp reflexes, threw up a barrier around herself, splaying her legs and bracing against the impact. Shepard, who had been asleep on her feet, was not so lucky. She felt herself being lifted up and slammed into another metal crate. Her head cracked against the surface, and she blacked out for a split second, stars popping in front of her eyes.

"Shepard!" Garrus' voice was hoarse in her ear, but she couldn't find her tongue to answer him. "Shepard, I'm coming down. Stay where you are."

The commander shook her head to clear her vision, holstering her pistol. Struggling to her feet, she caught her breath and detached her new toy from her back. Mordin had gifted her with a shiny new grenade launcher, and she was more than eager to test it on the disgusting, oversized bug.

"Jack, I need you to cover me," Shepard yelled, and the biotic nodded once, throwing out a massive shockwave in response.

The grenade launcher was powerful, but she would need to be closer to get a good shot.

Gathering whatever reserves of strength she had, she sprinted to closer cover, feet pounding the hard ground. She slid behind a stack of haphazardly placed shipping boxes as the Praetorian let out another stream of blinding laser that struck her cover with a deafening screech.

Behind her, she could see Jack volleying with the creature, firing a shot from her SMG and lobbing balls of biotic energy.

Shepard vaguely remembered Garrus yelling in her earpiece, telling her he was coming down from his vantage spot. She couldn't see him, but she was too focused on the giant bug trying to murder her.

"Jack," she said into her earpiece, loading a grenade into the mouth of the launcher. "Do you think you can throw that thing?"

"Fuck yeah, Shep!" Jack shouted, voice shrill in the commander's ear. "May not go far, but I can at least stun it."

"That's perfect," Shepard replied, readying her new toy. "On the count of three. One…two…THREE!"

Jack unleashed a massive burst of power, encapsulating the Praetorian in blue light, momentarily freezing the creature's moments. Shepard knew this was her chance, and stepped out of cover, aiming for its mouth. The grenade left the launcher with a violent thump that threw Shepard on her back, and for the second time, she cracked her head hard on a metal crate, losing consciousness.

Garrus had been sprinting towards the comm tower, holstering his sniper rifle and pulling out his SMG. He watched Shepard reach for her grenade launcher, and knew it could only lead to trouble. The grenade left with a violent kickback, and her small frame flew back, head smacking a crate behind her.

Skidding to a stop next to her prone form, he reached down and checked her pulse, finding it weak but present.

"Shit, she knocked herself out didn't she," Jack yelled from Garrus' right.

"Keep hitting it!" he replied, pulling a grenade from his belt.

Ripping the pin out with he teeth, he threw it with blistering strength, and watched with satisfaction as it landed in the praetorian's mouth. The grenade exploded, taking out what was remaining of the creature's barrier.

"Now Jack!"

With every muscle in her body straining, Jack released an explosive burst of energy at the giant bug. It hung in midair screaming, thoroughly pissed off. Garrus' eyes widened as it turned to bear down on his position, and he stepped to straddle Shepard's unconscious body, whipping out his sniper.

"I've had about enough of this," he growled, and Jack shivered at the primal anger in his voice.

The Praetorian was advancing, and he lined up its gullet in his sight, knowing he had one shot or they were both dead.

Pulling the trigger, he ducked, and the creature screamed in agony, slamming itself into the ground and exploding with a burst of hot, deadly energy. Garrus threw his body over Shepard's as it hit them, frying his visor and burning his skin.

"Holy shit," Jack panted as the bug dissolved, running over to where Shepard and Garrus lay. "Is she gonna be okay?"

Garrus rolled onto his side, assessing the damage to his commander.

"Shepard," he whispered, clutching her face in his hands. "Shepard, you gotta wake up."

"She's out cold," Jack said quietly, holstering her pistol.

"Mordin's got to dial down that kickback on the grenade launcher, I think," Garrus mused, lifting Shepard up in his arms.

Shepard groaned, eyes trying to focus. She was aware her feet were not on the ground, but the pounding in her head made thinking impossible.

"Got a little trigger happy with your new toy, Shepard," Garrus growled, setting her on her feet. The commander leaned against him, blinking her way back into consciousness.

She looked over at the comm tower at the charred remains of the Praetorian, then up at Garrus. His visor was blinking wildly, clearly malfunctioning, but the look of concern on his face was what struck her the most.

"I guess you killed it?" she said weakly, swaying slightly.

Garrus caught her arm before she could fall, and steadied her against his side.

"Oh, you know, the usual." His head tilted to the side, and grinned. "Just saving your ass from some crazy plan that backfired." He brushed a hand against her cheek, wiping dirt and Collector gore off with his thumb.

Her head pounding, eyes stinging, and body on fire, Shepard stared into his eyes. As always, and as it had been before, he was there, watching over her. And for that, she was grateful.


	3. Chapter III

_Author's Note_: Wow. Thank you to everyone who has followed and favorited this story. I'm super flattered. My first work of fanfic is actually being read! This chapter is mainly just setting up the next chapter; lots of dialogue taken directly from the game (thank you YouTube). Chapter IV will be posted tomorrow; it's already half-written, but I want to make it perfect, because it's the framework for the FemShep/Garrus romance (yes, yes, the pivotal "reach and flexibility" discussion). This chapter will probably be reworked some more before I'm happy with it, but I just wanted to get it out there tonight.

All characters and ideas/dialogue property of Bioware.

* * *

Garrus paced.

The battery of the new Normandy had become his quarters, cot shoved haphazardly against a wall, gun bench littered with mods and spare parts. His personal effects were few; his ruined armor, several armor undersuits, miscellaneous civilian clothes. All were neatly folded and placed in their appropriate cubbies in his locker, a habit hard to break from his military days. Order lead to an orderly mind, but no amount of organization could calm Garrus' frantic thoughts.

"Officer Vakarian," EDI's holo blipped on over the battery console, making Garrus pause. "Your heart rate is elevated, suggesting you are stressed. Shall I call the doctor for you?"

"No, EDI," Garrus scratched the bandage that was molded to the ruined side of his face. The good Doctor Chakawas has replaced it just last night before he retired to his quarters. The burns from their encounter with the Praetorian had aggravated the old wounds, and the doctor had sighed, asking him to be more careful next time.

"No, EDI," he continued, leaning his lanky figure against the console. "But can you tell Commander Shepard I wish to speak with her?"

"Of course, Officer. I will let her know."

He would only have one shot at this, and there was no one else he trusted with this level of infiltration than his commander.

* * *

Garrus Vakarian was not a worrier. It was not in turian nature to worry, nor was it considered to be an acceptable way to pass time. Turians, as a whole, were doers. A culture based around a formidable military meant that you did not have time to worry. At age 15, you began your compulsory service. After you did your stint, you either continued on by climbing the ranks, becoming a productive member of society, or by joining C-Sec. Turians were nothing, if not rigid.

It was well known by the original Normandy crew that Garrus was former C-Sec. What many of them hadn't known was just how bad of a turian Garrus had become when he left the Citadel to serve under Commander Shepard. The elder Acanthus Vakarian, Garrus' father, had encouraged his son to pursue a career in law enforcement. He firmly believed that bureaucracy and red tape would help his son to develop into something less…questioning and something more rigid. A good turian.

After the defeat of Saren and Sovereign, the Normandy crew had disbanded, slowly unraveling as was natural. Garrus had returned to C-Sec, much to the delight of his father. However, the destruction of the Normandy and subsequent death of one Commander Shepard shook loose whatever roots Garrus attempted to lay down on the Citadel. The loss of his mentor broke something in his very core, and he found he was unable to continue a life of mediocrity dictated by so many restrictions. He had helped Shepard defeat a Reaper, for spirit's sake. Bogged down by paperwork, arrest warrants and incident reports, Garrus had felt like he was slowly suffocating.

He stayed long enough for her funeral. The remaining Normandy crew was there, and while many of them were able to shake his hand and give him their condolences, the ones who knew him better, who knew how deep his relationship with Shepard went, were unable to help him grief. Liara acknowledged him with teary eyes, but never spoke. Joker, completely overcome with guilt, broke down in his wheelchair, sobbing so hard he fractured a rib. He quietly told Garrus how Shepard had been blown away from the crumbling Normandy as she shoved him into an escape pod. The impact of ejection had broken both of his legs in multiple places, and his grief at the loss of his commander was hindering his recovery. Garrus had pressed a shaky hand into Joker's. It's not your fault, he said. To all of them. It wasn't any of their fault.

It was his.

He managed to charter a ride to Omega. The grit and grime of the place was a welcome distraction to the sterile rigidity of the Citadel, and he took up residence in a small apartment not far from Afterlife. With the assistance of several information brokers, he was able to set up a proxy bank account, a fake identity, new omni-tool, and consequently fell off the grid.

Garrus' abrupt departure from C-Sec left Acanthus reeling in hostility. Throwing another promising career away, the elder Vakarian seethed. Disappearing without a trace. Deactivating his omni-tool. Garrus had lit fire to a bridge, and watched it smolder from his cramped quarters on Omega.

* * *

It began out of boredom.

Another night nursing a glass of cheap turian whiskey belly up to a bar in Afterlife, Garrus surveyed some of the club's seedier patrons. There were the usual drunken idiots, hitting on several of the asari dancers. What caught his eye was a group of batarians hunkered down in a corner booth, no drinks in front of them. For an hour they had even been ignoring the dancers that offered up services. Garrus swiveled in his stool, and scoped the group through his visor. The obvious leader was leaning back against the couch, listening to several others argue. Vital specs, cranial and iris measurements matched to a one Rhi'Hesh Shurta, leader of a batarian gang responsible for several black market shipments of illegal ammunition with armor-piercing capabilities. Strictly military grade, but its availability on Omega had lead to several mass-slaughters on innocent, unarmed civilians, mainly humans. Garrus nursed his whiskey and scrolled deeper into Shurta's dossier, thankful for his ability to hack into C-Sec's most encrypted databanks. So far, 146 deaths were linked to Shurta's gang.

The next day, Shurta's right hand man returned to home base to find the two door guards slumped against each other, necks broken. Dead. The rest of the stronghold was utterly decimated; every member who had been unlucky enough to be present during the raid was dead. Shurta was found in his quarters, slumped over an empty crate, a bullet hole between his four eyes.

News of an unknown vigilante swept through Omega. Those who spoke of him told tales of his prowess with a sniper rifle, his ability to move like liquid: silent, fluid and deadly. A prominent red sand dealer was found dead of an overdose; having four eyes full of the drug was enough to kill even the most seasoned addict. A human munitions smuggler by the name of Gus Williams was shot in the head as he loaded crates of illegal weapons onto a ship in a lower docking bay. The bullet's trajectory put the shooter at over 300 meters away, tucked up in the catwalk of the docks.

The label Archangel had originated somewhere in the lower wards, but nobody was sure of who had coined it. As the vigilante's kill list grew, rumor was he had adopted the name and was using it. Besides being a master sniper, not much was known about Archangel other than he was turian. He was known to keep the company of eleven other vigilantes of varying races, though none of them could ever be positively identified. Anyone who had seen Archangel in the flesh was either dead or an innocent bystander lucky enough to have been saved, but they always said the same thing. He was tall, wore scuffed blue armor and matching helmet, and carried a heavily modded Viper rifle.

The day Shepard had found Archangel holed up in that ruined apartment; he had been on the verge. Trapped within himself, trying to drag out his sorrow like pulls on a whiskey bottle, he was spiraling. His commander was dead, his men were dead, his career ruined by his own mistakes - twice. Fully prepared to die at the hands of mercenaries, Archangel had accepted his fate. Until Shepard had crossed his scope and life bloomed in his chest. He remembered what it felt like to breathe, to have hope. A sweet, hot burn of intensity, the power of survival instinct had tripped into his bloodstream. There she was, a glorious apparition of his darkest memories, alive.

Now, in the main battery, Garrus paced and remembered what the pain of injustice felt like as it settled in his gut.

Sidonis, he growled, and it sounded like an expletive.

The doors hissing open broke Garrus from his thoughts as Shepard stepped over the threshold, looking thoroughly professional in uniform.

"You called?" she asked, taking her customary seat on a metal crate across from his cot.

"Shepard, I'm glad you came by." He steeled himself against the pain in his gut, facing his commander with fire in his eyes. "I've got something and I may need your help."

Shepard leaned her elbows on her thighs and laced her gloved fingers together, listening intently.

"You remember Sidonis, the one who betrayed my team? I've found a lead on him." Eyes narrowed, he settled down on his cot. "There's a specialist on the Citadel. Name's Fade. He's an expert at helping people…disappear. Sidonis was seen with him."

Shepard leaned back and studied him calmly. "What are you planning on doing when you find him?"

It was an innocent enough question, but Garrus knew Shepard was testing him. She had done it many times before on the original Normandy, as a mode of teaching.

"You humans have a saying, an eye for an eye, a life for a life…" his voice was dripping with animosity, subvocals deep and reverberating with contempt. "He owes me ten, and I plan to collect." Sidonis. His teeth snapped together and he let out a sharp breath.

"You sure that's how you want to play it?" Shepard asked quietly, grey eyes appraising him cautiously.

"I'm sure," he said, rising from the cot. He leaned against the counsel, arms crossed, and settled his weight on one leg. "I don't need you to agree with me." His eyes met hers, and through is visor he could see her pulse increase slightly at his aggression. "But I need your help," he added quietly.

Shepard didn't move from the crate, and Garrus watched her intently. He could almost see the gears turning in her head as she mulled over his speech.

"Where do we find Fade?" she asked softly, settling her elbows back on her thighs.

Garrus pressed his mandibles tight to his face, not surprised she had agreed to help him, even if she didn't agree with his methods. He knew she wouldn't be able to resist a fight, and she was the only one he could trust to help him.

"I'll arrange a meeting with him." He let out a deep breath through his clenched teeth, struggling to maintain his composure. Even though Shepard had agreed to help, he didn't want her thinking he was a loose cannon hell bent on revenge. Better to get her on the Citadel before he lost control of his predatory instincts. Sidonis.

* * *

Being back on the Citadel made Garrus antsy and agitated. Harkin had pulled out all the cowardly stops; throwing Blue Suns mercs and mechs at them as he conducted the fight from a locked room.

"So Harkin's finally gone completely bad," Shepard said breathlessly as the last merc hit the floor. They had fought their way across part of the warehouse and ended up in a control room for cover.

"He was always a pain in the ass," Garrus said, leaning against the crane controls. "But I'm in no mood for his games. If he decides not to cooperate, I'll beat him within an inch of his life." His talons dug into the edge of the console, scratching metal.

"You seem to be getting tense, Garrus," Shepard quipped, leaning the muzzle of her rifle against her shoulder.

Garrus took a deep breath. "Harkin may know why Sidonis wanted to disappear. If so, he knows why we're here, and I don't want him to tip Sidonis off."

Harkin had cornered himself in another control room, sending LOKI and heavy mechs at them. Garrus was growing more and more angry with each distraction, patience wearing thin. When they reached the control room, he waved Shepard to enter to the left, and he went around to the right entrance.

Harkin tripped over his feet as Shepard pointed her pistol in his face, falling backwards as he tried to scramble away

"You were close," he spat, turning to flee through the opposite entrance. "But not close enough."

Garrus met him, and introduced the butt of his rifle to the man's face. Harkin doubled over, clutching his nose and moaning in pain. The smell of the man's blood lit Garrus' nerves on fire, and he grabbed Harkin by the shoulder, throwing him against the wall of the control room. Harkin struggled, but the turian was beyond caring about causing permanent damage. Pressing his forearm against the man's throat, he leaned his face close.

"So, Fade," he said quietly, subvocals resonating malice. "Couldn't make yourself disappear, huh?"

Harkin narrowed his eyes. "Come on, Garrus. We can work this out. What do you need?"

He released his hold on Harkin, and the man slid down the wall until his feet touched the ground. Garrus turned away, fighting to control his anger.

"I need to find someone."

"Well I could have guessed that," Harkin replied cockily, rolling his head from side to side. "But we both have something the other one wants."

Blood boiling, Garrus spun with blistering speed and hit Harkin in the stomach, armored knee connecting with a satisfying thud. The man fell to the floor, gasping.

"You helped a friend of mine disappear," Garrus spat as Harkin struggled to his feet. "I need to find him.

"I might need…a little more information than that," Harkin gasped. Garrus resisted the urge to punch the man in his face.

"His name was Sidonis. Turian. Came from –"

"I know who he is," Harkin interrupted, "but I'm not tellin' you squat."

"Harkin, this doesn't have to be hard," Shepard said from Garrus' side. He noted that she had holstered her gun, and her body language suggested she was not approving of Garrus' interrogation methods.

"Screw you," he spat at Shepard. "I don't give out client information. It's bad for business."

Red flashed across his vision, and Garrus seized the man by his shoulders, kneeing him in the gut again. He went down, and Garrus rested his foot on Harkin's neck.

"You know what else is bad for business?" he growled. "A broken neck." He pressed harder to make his point, and Harkin clawed at his foot with both hands, struggling to relieve the pressure on his airway. How easily he could snap the vertebrae, crush his windpipe, watch him suffocate.

"Al-alright alright!" Harkin gasped. "Get off me!"

Garrus felt a hand on his shoulder, bringing him back to the present. He turned to see Shepard looking at him, worry etched in the lines on her face. He reluctantly removed his foot from Harkin's neck and stepped back.

"Terminus really changed you, Garrus," Harkin gasped, rubbing his Adam's apple as he struggled onto his feet. The turian stiffened defensively.

"No," he said quietly, staring down at the incapacitated human. "But Sidonis…opened my eyes. Now arrange a meeting." He jerked his head towards the comm console.

Harkin glared up at him hatefully. "I'm going."

As Harkin opened up a comm link and connected with Sidonis, Garrus unholstered his pistol and studied it carefully. He had Harkin here, and the man had been nothing short of a pain in the ass. Technically, he was a wanted criminal. Shepard looked up at him with quiet indignation, and he felt his gut twist the slightest bit. Now is not the time to grow a conscience, Vakarian, he reminded himself.

"It's all good," Harkin said, disconnecting the comm. "He wants to meet you at Orbital Lounge, middle of the day." He started to back away from them slowly. "So, if our business is done, I guess I'll be going?"

Garrus seized the man around the neck and pulled him to his face. "I don't think so, Harkin. You're a criminal now."

"So, so what?" Harkin gasped. "You're just going to kill me? That's not your style, Garrus."

He's right, said a voice in the back of Garrus' head. Don't sink to that level. "Kill you?" he threw Harkin back and the man struggled to regain his footing. "No. But I don't mind slowing you down." Garrus raised his pistol and took aim at the man's stomach. Not enough to kill him, but he would writhe in pain by the time C-Sec got here. Finger resting on the trigger, he smiled grimly.

Shepard flung her hands out and grabbed Garrus' arm, forcing it over his head. A shot rang out, and the bullet embedded itself in the control room ceiling. Garrus stared incredulously at Shepard, blood pounding in his ears.

"You don't need to shoot him," she said quietly, eyes locked onto his. "He can't hid from C-Sec now."

Garrus shoved her off his arm, and turned away, seething. He was at his limit with everyone's bullshit. Holstering his pistol, he glared at Harkin. "I guess it's your lucky day."

"Yeah," sneered Harkin, a smile spreading across his face. "I hope we can do this again real soon.

Garrus closed the space between him and the man and head butted him hard. There was a satisfying crack as dense turian brow plates met soft human skull. Harkin's eyes rolled back in his head with a groan, and he collapsed in a heap on the floor, unconscious.

Shepard sighed and walked out of the control room. Garrus followed, feeling slightly better

"I didn't shoot him," he protested.

She shook her head.

* * *

The atmosphere in the cab was thick and tense. Garrus could tell Shepard was not happy with him, but he was past the point of caring. So many hoops to jump through, when all he wanted was to get Sidonis and get the hell off the Citadel. The sky car came to a soft stop, and the lack of engine noise only accentuated the apprehensive mood that rolled off his commander.

"Harkin was a bloody menace." Garrus said quietly, looking forward out the windshield. He raised his chin in defiance. "We shouldn't have just let him go. He deserved to be punished."

Shepard stared at him. He could see her reflection in the windshield. "I'm a little worried about you, Garrus. You were pretty hard on Harkin."

Her mouth was set in a thin line, one Garrus knew was the utmost expression of disapproval. A voice in the back of his mind struggled to surface, telling him he shouldn't be disappointing his only friend.

"You don't think he deserved it?" Garrus swiveled his head to face her, eyes locking on hers.

"This isn't like you," she replied quietly.

Garrus turned away, clenching his teeth.

"What do you want from me? What would you do if someone betrayed you?"

"I'm not sure. But I wouldn't let it change me." Her reply had a hint of reproach, and he almost felt guilty for being such an ass. But he was in too deep with this. Too many sleepless nights had been spent visualizing the various ways he would kill Sidonis for what he did. Too many good men bled dry because of what he did. And what Garrus wasn't able to do. Sidonis had betrayed him, and exposed Garrus for what he really was. A lost kid, a failed leader.

"I would have said the same thing before it happened to me," he spat, but he couldn't look her in the eye. Turning to his window, he studied the taillights of cars speeding past the transit station. "Who's going to bring Sidonis to justice if I don't? Nobody else knows what he's done. Nobody else cares." He studied her out of the corner of his eye. Never had he pushed her this far. Never had he talked back, or questioned her judgment. He had teetered on the precipice for so long after his team had fallen, and finding Harkin had tipped him over the edge. "I don't see any other options."

"Let me talk to him," she replied, a hint of sadness in her voice.

Garrus leaned his head back against the seat and hiked his armor up a bit. "Talk all you want, but it won't change my mind. I don't care what his reasons were. He screwed us. He deserves to die."

"I understand what you're going through, but do you really want to kill him?"

Garrus leaned forward, daring to look at her now. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm not you."

"This isn't you."

"Yeah," he barked sarcastically. "I always hated injustice. The thought that Sidonis could get away with this?" his mandibles flared in anger, pain shooting up the ruined side of his face. "Why should he go on living while ten good men lie in unmarked graves? I'm sorry Shepard, words are not going to solve this problem." He was falling, no way of stopping now. "I need to set up."

Studying their surroundings, he located a catwalk. "I can get a clear shot from over there."

"What do you need me to do?" Shepard asked quietly, not looking away from him.

"Keep him talking, and don't get in my way. I'll let you know when he's in my sights. Give me a signal so I know you're ready, and I'll take the shot." He clenched his teeth in aggravation. "You better go. He'll be here soon.

Garrus popped the door for the skycar and exited without a backwards glance at Shepard. With purpose, he strode to his vantage point, extending his rifle as he went. He knew he had pushed her, and the tiniest bit of him was scared he had went too far, toed past the line of what was acceptable. But the thought of his men bleeding out, dying because of Sidonis. Two years ago, Garrus wouldn't have even considered killing someone strictly out of revenge.

But it wasn't Garrus' mission. It was Archangel's.

* * *

Garrus was long past the point of pissed by the time he had settled against the rail of the catwalk. From his vantage point, he could see Shepard walk purposefully towards the entrance of Orbital Lounge, where several couches and benches were placed. Finger resting above the trigger, he toyed with the safety and watched the back of Shepard's head through his scope. Panning out further, he could see Sidonis sitting on a bench, looking twitchy and nervous, and thin. He had always been on the small side for a turian, but as Garrus studied him, he noticed how Sidonis gripped the edge of the bench, talons digging into the metal. He looked haunted. Good, thought Garrus, ruined cheek and mandible resting against the stock of his rifle. I hope every person you betrayed keeps you up at night. I hope you see their faces every time you close your eyes.

"Shepard? Can you hear me?" his finger tapped his earpiece.

"Loud and clear," came her voice over the comm.

"Alright," Garrus growled, taking a calming breath. No way to get a clear shot if he couldn't control himself. "There he is. Wave him over and keep him talking"

Shepard beckoned Sidonis over to her, and the thin turian rose to meet her. Garrus noted his civilian clothes looked worn, and his heart rate increased as his predatory instincts started to take over.

"Let's get this over with," Sidonis said. Garrus could hear him through Shepard's comm, and his spine tightened at the voice.

"You're in my shot," Garrus growled at Shepard. "Move."

Her head stayed directly in his crosshairs, and his finger ghosted over the trigger. He could feel anger and bile rising in his throat. She waspurposely standing in the line of fire.

"Listen, Sidonis. I'm here to help you," she said, stepping closer.

"Don't ever say that name aloud!" Sidonis hissed, his head weaving in and out of Garrus' crosshairs. He growled low in his throat. Shepard was still in his shot.

"I'm a friend of Garrus'," she said, voice quiet over the comm. "He wants you dead, but I'm hoping we can prevent that."

Garrus cursed and tried to adjust his position, anything to get a clear view of Sidonis' head.

"Garrus'? Is this some kind of joke?" Sidonis spat, eyes wide.

"Damnit Shepard!" Garrus said loudly. "If he moves, I'm going to take the shot."

"You're not kidding, are you?" Sidonis asked, a hint of fear creeping into his voice. "Screw this, I'm not sticking around here to find out. Tell Garrus I have my own problems." He turned to walk away, and Garrus saw Shepard grab the sleeve of his shirt. "Get off me!" he spat, batting her hand away.

"I'm the only thing standing between you and a hole in your head," she growled, and for a second Garrus admired the tenacity in her voice.

Sidonis studied her face. "Fuck." He dropped his head and stared at his feet. "Look, I didn't want to do it. I didn't have a choice.

Garrus growled violently. "Everyone has a choice."

"They got to me. Said they were going to kill me if I didn't help. What was a supposed to do?" Sidonis threw his hands up in a helpless gesture.

"Let me take the shot Shepard. He's a damn coward."

"That's it?" Shepard spat. Sidonis started pacing, and Shepard shadowed his movements, making sure her body was in front of his. "You were just trying to save yourself?"

"I know what I did," Sidonis said quietly, looking at the floor. "I know they died because of me. And I have to live with that." Garrus knew Shepard couldn't hear the range Sidonis' subvocals had dipped to, but they keened of sadness and despair. "I wake up every night, sick, sweating." His voice is barely a whisper, and Shepard leans closer so her comm can pick up what he's saying. Garrus watches through his scope, the back of Shepard's head in his crosshairs. "Each of their faces staring at me. Accusing me. I'm already a dead man." Sidonis hung is head. "I don't sleep. Food has no taste. Some days, I just want it to be over."

Garrus leaned his cheek against the stock of his rifle and growled quietly. "Just let me take the shot."

"You gotta let it go, Garrus," Shepard said quietly. Garrus snapped his teeth together in indignation. "He's already paying for his crime."

"He hasn't paid enough," Garrus breathes darkly. "He still has his life."

"Look at him Garrus, he's not alive. There's nothing left to kill."

"My men," he said, taking his eye away from the scope and looking at the floor. "They deserved better."

"Tell Garrus…" Sidonis said, shaking his head. "I guess there's nothing I can say to make it right." His subvocals dip sadly.

Something in Garrus' mind struggled to the surface, and he shook his head. "Just go. Tell him to go."

Shepard glanced up at him, then back at Sidonis, a sad look on her face. "He's letting you go."

"Thank you, Garrus," Sidonis said, straightening up. "You're a better man than I am." He turned and walked away, head hung in sorrow.

Garrus sighed and collapsed his rifle. His chest felt empty, his eyes dry and tired. Solemnly, he made his way back to the skycar.

Shepard was waiting for him, arms crossed. Garrus stopped in front of her and leaned in, staring her down.

"I know you want to talk about this, but I don't want to. Not yet."

"I know it didn't go the way you planned," she said, staring right back. "But I believe it's for the best.

"I'm not so sure."

"Give it time."

"Yeah yeah. Maybe. I want to know I did the right thing. Not just for me. For my men. They deserve to be avenged. But when Sidonis was in my sights, I just couldn't do it."

"The lines between good and evil blur when we're looking at people we know." She replied, and somehow he knew she wasn't just referring to Sidonis. His heart constricted, and guilt washed over him. He pushed her, and she was still there, trying to save him from himself.

"Yeah. There was still good in him. I could see it," he said, stepping back and looking back towards the lounge. "It's so much easier when it's in black and white. Gray? I don't know what to do with gray." He shook his head wearily, and sighed.

"You've gotta go with your instincts," she said, stepping closer to him.

"My instincts are what got me into this mess."

"Don't be too hard on yourself," she said, laying a hand on his arm. He could see the apprehension in her eyes.

"Let's get going," he said with a heavy sight. "I need some distance from this place."


	4. Chapter IV

_Author's Note_: Oh this chapter was both fun and a bitch to write. This..this is where I start taking liberties with the storyline and certain events. I hope you don't mind.

I wanted to pay homage and add a little of myself to this story, so Shepard reflects that a bit.

As always, mistakes are my own, reviews are welcome, Bioware owns all the characters.

* * *

Shepard knew the moment they stepped foot on the Citadel that it was not Garrus' mission.

It was Archangel's.

She had agreed to help him, of course. There was no question that unless the Sidonis issue was taken care of, he would be a wreck on and off the battlefield. Having her most trusted soldier distracted was not something Shepard took lightly - she would do whatever it took to get him back on track. But the night he had approached for her help, she began to worry.

So distracted by her own emotional baggage, she hadn't noticed just how tight Garrus was wound. He was not the quiet, awkward C-Sec officer who helped her bring down Saren and Sovereign. He had slipped into a shroud of anger that Shepard was terrified would consume him. Hatred had a way of burning a person from the inside out. It would smolder in the gut, keeping you alive on sheer principal, until the smolder became a flame that threatened to consume your entire existence. Shepard worried that Harkin had been the bellows, fueling something akin to a wildfire. As she watched Garrus shift into what could only be described as predatory, Shepard found herself afraid of him, and it shook her to her very core. For two years he had run amuck on Omega, vicious, cunning, and downright ruthless. His actions were admirable, in a way, but Shepard worried that Archangel had begun to overshadow what little bit of the Garrus she knew was left.

She did not know the details of his escapades during her death and subsequent resurrection, and part of her felt as if she didn't have the right to ask. He had joined her willingly enough, but continued to sequester himself in the forward battery on the implication that Cerberus had done something horribly wrong to the guns, and they needed to be fixed. Shepard let him continue with the rouse, but when her sleepless nights began to catch up with her, she sought solace in the one person she knew wouldn't question her motives.

Garrus never objected to her stealing naps in the battery. In fact, it became almost routine. A planetside mission would go pear-shaped, they would come back; him to the battery to clean his gear, her to her quarters to shower and brief XO Lawson. Time would creep towards late night, and she would steal down to his quarters, yogurt or hot chocolate in hand. They didn't really talk; he was working with algorithms that required large numbers and complicated strings of equations to be added in his head. So instead, she would curl up on his cot and sip her coco and just watch him. Sometimes she would bring several data pads with her, notes or dossiers that required immediate attention. If her quiet presence annoyed him, he never let his actions or words betray his feelings.

She still had trouble sleeping, but being not so alone and under the warm, low light of the battery had a certain balming effect on her mental state. Whether the area was naturally warmer than the rest of the ship, or he kept it that way for his own comfort - Palaven was hot, after all - the enveloping heat made the transition from conscious to unconscious simpler. The sound of him tapping away on the console would bring her slowly to the surface again, instead of the jarring blue light from her aquarium assaulting her senses. There were still no dreams, but there was also no oppressive darkness that pressed on her senses as she struggled into sleep.

After returning from the Citadel, Shepard thought it would be best to let Garrus simmer on his own. She also needed time to mull over the fact that she had, quite stupidly, placed her head in the scope of a very, very angry turian. And not just any angry turian. A very, very angry Archangel.

Not that she thought he would purposely shoot her to get to Sidonis. She still knew him well enough that the very thought of him pulling the trigger on her was completely out of the question. What made her worry the most was his resolve to kill. Revenge she was familiar with; any solider who had been around long enough knew the burn of hatred after a mission went FUBAR, or a comrade died at the hands of the enemy. But she had never let the hate best her. Garrus…Garrus had emerged from the medbay, face bloodied and sore, a dark, hard glint in his eyes. Two years was a long time to lose track of someone you trusted inexplicably, and while details about Archangel's deeds were few to her, she didn't want the stint on Omega to stain Garrus too deeply.

For five cycles she left him alone, rotating through the rest of the crew when she left for a mission. EDI kept her updated on Garrus' activities; apparently he had managed to find a way to improve functionality of the Normandy's guns another 3.56%. Figuring that was a 3% more chance he was in a more talkative mood, Shepard stole down to the battery that night, coco in hand, data pads tucked in the crook of her elbow.

Palming the door open, she found Garrus leaned over the council, studying something on his omni-tool.

"Am I interrupting, Vakarian?" she quipped, settling herself on his cot.

Shutting down whatever he was looking at, he turned and looked at her. She was surprised to notice the steely glint was gone from his eyes, replaced with an emotion Shepard couldn't quite place. Turians as a whole were difficult to read, but her familiarity with Garrus usually made it easier.

"Just catching up with my many admirers," he shot back in amusement, leaning against the console and crossing his arms. "Look, Shepard. I want to thank you. For your help with Sidonis. It may not have ended the way I planned, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that, well, you were right." He gestured towards her with a hand, the turian equivilant of a smile on his face. "I guess it took me staring at the back of your head in my crosshairs to realize that my respect for you goes far beyond my need for revenge. I should have realized you were trying to save me from myself." His voice was soft, with a hint of emotion she hadn't heard before.

His confession resonated in her chest, and she felt her pulse quicken, well aware he would pick up on it thanks to his damn visor.

"No need to thank me, Garrus." Her voice was soft, and she swirled her coco a bit. "You would have figured it out eventually, but I didn't want you to take that shot and regret it. Those sort of things, they can't be undone. But I'm glad you're ok with the decision. I can't have you second guessing me on everything. Not with this much at stake."

He looked at her coyly, and a slow warmth spread through her chest.

"It's strange, going into a suicide mission on a human ship." He left the console and began to tinker with some electrical panel on the wall across from her. "Your people don't prepare for high risk missions the way turians do."

Shepard leaned back against the pillows. "How do turian crews get ready for high risk missions?"

"With violence, usually." He turned to face her, at ease, hands behind his back and feet splayed. "Turian ships have more operational discipline than your Alliance, but fewer personal restrictions." There was a hint of play hidden in his subvocals. Is he flirting with me? Shepard thought, sipping more of her coco, the corners of her mouth quirking up. "Our commanders run us tight, but they know we need to blow off steam."

There was an implication in his tone, bordering on downright naughty. Shepard curled her toes and rested the mug against her lips to hide her grin.

"Turian ships have training rooms for exercise, combat sims, even full-contact sparring. Whatever lets people work off stress."

"You mean turian ships have crewman fighting each other before a mission?" Shepard responded incredulously.

"It's supervised, of course," Garrus responded matter of factly. "Nobody is going to risk an injury that interferes with the mission. And it's a good way to settle grudges amicably." He resumed his pacing, and Shepard surveyed the sharp lines of his profile. She had worked closely with turians before; and never found them to be anything other than rigid professionals. Even from the beginning, she had known Garrus to be a different sort of Turian. "I remember right before one mission, we were about to hit a batarian pirate squad. Very risky."

This was new. Garrus had never really delved much into his past, especially his military service. Shepard sat more upright and cleared her throat nervously.

"This recon scout and I had been at each other's throats. Nerves, mostly. She suggested we settle it in the ring."

"I assume you took her down gently?" Shepard replied sarcastically.

"Actually, she and I were the top-ranked hand-to-hand specialists on the ship. I had reach, but she had flexibility." His words were dripping in subvocals, and while she didn't have turian ears, she certainly wasn't naive - a hint of something was laced in with his story. "It was brutal. After nine rounds, the judge called it a draw. There were a lot of unhappy bettors in the training room. We, ah, ended up holding a tiebreaker in her quarters. I had reach, but she had flexibility. More than one way to work off stress, I guess."

Shepard's breath hitched, and desire pooled low in her belly. Something in the tone his voice woke something dark and hungry in her. She squeezed her hands into fists on her lap, nails biting into her palms.

"It sounds like you're carrying some tension," she said quietly. The words were out of her mouth before her brain had a chance to catch up. Almost dreamily, she set her coco on the floor and rose from his cot, slowly closing the space between them. "Maybe...I could help you get rid of it?"

"I uh, didn't think you'd feel like sparring, Commander." He looked amused, and she continued, brazened by his lack resistance. There was less than a foot of space between them now, and she was sure he was getting a very interesting reading on that visor of his.

"What if we skipped right to the tiebreaker? We could test your reach…and my flexibility?"

"Oh…I didn't…hmm." He looked down at her, but didn't back away. "Never knew you had a weakness for men with scars."

She knew his humor was a defense mechanism, and she was well aware how far she was pushing him out of his comfort zone. Payback for how much you pushed me on the Citadel, Archangel, she thought to herself with a smirk. His eyes were locked on hers, and the emotion behind his gaze was something that sent a jolt straight to her core. Want, hunger, and a little bit of excitement.

"Why the hell not?" he replied. "There's nobody in this galaxy I respect more than you."

His response set her skin on fire, igniting emotions she hadn't been reminded of for quite some time. She was suddenly aware of how warm he was, radiating heat as he pressed himself closer. His armor made it difficult to get as close as she wanted, but he ran a finger down the side of her face, following the curve of her jaw.

"If we can find a way to make it work, then…definitely." His other hand settled on the small of her back, and he closed the last few inches of space between them with a tug. She was suddenly very aware of how small the battery was as blood pounded in her ears. She reached a hand up to cup the scarred side of his face, and he leaned into the pressure, making a contented sound in his chest.

"We'll have to do some research," she said with a giggle.

"Hmmm…I'm sure Mordin would love to help."

"I sincerely hope you're joking, Garrus Vakarian." She stepped back and smacked his shoulder, which was an empty gesture against his armor. Gathering up her coco mug and data pads, she turned and palmed the door open. "I'll let you get back to work."

"Right," he replied, leaning against the console. "'Cause I'm in a great place to optimize firing algorithms right now."

The door hissed shut behind her, a stupid grin plastered on her face.

"Something funny, Shep?" came a voice at her elbow. Kasumi uncloaked, causing Shepard to drop her data pads.

"Kasumi, can you please warn me when you do stuff like that?"

"Nope. Can you please tell me why you just left the forward battery looking like you got your cake and ate it too?"

"Nope."

"Darn. Well, I'll figure it out by myself, then." She disappeared with a slight shimmer.

Back in her quarters, Shepard contemplated restlessly. A few extranet searches for "turian/human relationships" had unearthed nothing but images that would make even the most frequent Fornax viewer blush. Maybe even Joker.

"Not very helpful…" she mused, tapping a finger to her lips.

"Anything I can be of assistance with, Commander?" EDI's holo blipped to life.

Shepard sighed. "Not really, EDI. Well, actually, can you run a search for me? Turian culture and customs. Please filter out any…unnecessary information."

"Certainly, Commander. I will forward reports to your personal terminal."

"Thank you, EDI. And, also, this conversation, and subsequent searches, will need to be wiped from your data banks."

"Aye aye, Commander. Logging you out."

Good thing I never sleep, she thought to herself, and tucked into her research.

* * *

The mission was guaranteed to go sideways the moment she stepped off the shuttle. The freighter ship MSV Estevancio was a crippled corpse of steel and struts, teetering precariously on an outcrop of Zanethu. Due to the integrity of the ship, she had opted to go alone. EDI had scanned ahead and concluded that while there were no life forms, a general distress beacon matched the Estevancio's signature. A reward would be paid to the person who was stupid enough to attempt a recovery of data from the wreck.

Even with armor on, Shepard was easily the lightest person on the crew besides Kasumi, and she wasn't about the throw the light-footed thief in that much danger. The ship protested beneath her as she picked her way through a maze of beams and debris, and Shepard thanked her lucky stars she wasn't afraid of heights. The data box was at the very front of the ship, but getting there was a maze of fallen bulkheads and rusted steel tiles.

She was trying very carefully to watch where her feet were taking her, and also watch the creaking framework above her head, but as she jumped across a small gap on what had once been a catwalk, a steel tile shook loose from above her head with a shriek. Reflexes honed from years spent in battle launched her into a shoulder roll away from the tile, but she wasn't quick enough. A sharp steel edge caught her left shoulder as it fell, and with a loud pop she felt it dislocate.

"Shit!" she exclaimed, grunting in pain and clutching her arm close to her body. "EDI, where the hell is this data box. I've had about enough of this ship."

"Up one more level, Commander. I will have the shuttle try to retrieve you from the bow."

Shepard sighed and picked her way across more debris, cursing at the shooting pain in her shoulder. She was not looking forward to popping it back into its socket, gritting her teeth and pushing forward.

The data box was right where EDI said it was, and luckily she was able to shut off the distress beacon with one hand. Tucking the small black cube under her good arm, she turned and watched the shuttle descend to fetch her.

"Commander, you're going to have to jump into the shuttle," EDI said in her earpiece. "The ship is tilting too far, and the weight of the shuttle landing may send it over the edge of the cliff."

"Oh of course," Shepard spat. The door of the shuttle lifted open, and gathering herself, she launched her body across the gap between the ship and door, slamming to the floor of the shuttle just as the ship started to tip. With an earsplitting groan, the corpse of the Estevancio slipped off its precipice and disappeared loudly into the fog surrounding the outcrop.

"Well, I guess we can add parkour to your dossier, Commander," Joker quipped as she walked through the airlock. "Oh, ow," he added as he saw her clutching her dislocated shoulder. "That's not going to be fun."

"Thanks for the reminder, Joker. Now shut up or I'll dislocate your shoulder."

"Aye aye, Commander."

The elevator ride up a floor to the medbay seemed to be extra slow, just to spite her. Unfortunately, it was lunch hour for many of the crew, and she stalked out of the elevator holding her arm, drawing stares from those sitting in the mess.

"Shepard," she heard Garrus say, sounding amused. He had been grousing Gardener about something when he caught her walking to the med bay. "What happened?"

"Oh, the usual. Ship: 1, Shepard: 0." She palmed the med bay door open, and gave Chakwas an exasperated look. The good doctor had been sitting at her desk, going over medical supply lists. At the sight of Shepard's incapacitated state, she shook her head and sighed.

"What did you do now?" she asked, steering Shepard to a hospital bed, forcing her to sit on the edge.

"Lost a fight with a bulkhead," she groaned as Chakwas prodded at her arm.

"Armor off, please, Commander. I'll have to rotate that back into place."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Shepard said, reaching for the catches of her shoulder guards. Garrus had been hovering a few feet from her hospital bed, leaning against the medbay window, looking thoroughly amused.

"The great Commander Shepard loses a battle with a shipwreck," he quipped, leaning on one hip.

"Vakarian, as soon as the good doctor pops my shoulder back into place…" she growled through gritted teeth. The pain was making her eyes water, and she squeezed them shut, releasing the catches on her chest plate.

"Officer Vakarian," Chakwas said, popping off Shepard's gauntlets. "Instead of loitering, come here and make yourself useful. I need you to stand next to her and brace her. I'm going to have to push her shoulder back into its socket, and there's a good chance she may pass out."

Garrus had the grace to look a little less happy about his incapacitated commander, and stood beside Shepard, leaning his lanky frame against her. Through the fog of ache, Shepard could feel an electric current of energy humming between where her undersuit and Garrus' armor made contact. She snuck a glance up at him through her lashes, and he winked.

"Don't worry, Commander. I'll catch you before you have a chance to dislocate your other shoulder falling out of bed."

"Garrus I swear to-"

"Enough." Chakwas said, glaring at the two of them. "Now, Commander, I'm going to lift your arm up and rotate it back into place. It's going to hurt. If you pass out, and Garrus doesn't catch you, I will allow you to punish him as you see fit. But first, this needs to be fixed before you suffer nerve damage."

"Just do it," Shepard spat through gritted teeth. She braced herself against Garrus and held her breath.

Chakwas lifted her arm, rotating it out to her side. Shepard saw black spots pool up in her vision, and has the doctor shoved her shoulder back into place with another pop, she blacked out.

She came to a minute later, blinking furiously, trying to clear her head.

"I did warn you," Chakwas said from the foot of her bed. It was then she realized Garrus was still next to her, holding her up. "I'll go get you some water and pain meds. It'll be sore for a bit, but you can expect full range of motion in a few days." The doctor exited the medbay for a bottle of water.

"Ship: 2, Shepard: 0," she mumbled, leaning into Garrus. She could feel his laugh.

"We can go back and kick its ass, if you want revenge. Only I'll make sure to step in your shot and talk the ships ear off about morals and living and things of that nature. You know. To teach you a lesson."

She was glad he was joking about the Sidonis situation. It meant that he had moved on from it enough to be more open about it, and wasn't harboring any resentment towards her. She gazed up at him appreciatively, and his returning look sent her heart rate through the roof. Lips parted slightly, she reached out her good arm to trace the edge of one of his mandibles.

"You're an ass, you know that?" she said quietly. He made that contented sound in his chest, a turian version of a purr.

"Yes, so you've told me. I'm beginning to think that's the only reason you keep me around. Your emotional punching bag."

The sound of a throat clearing shattered their happy little bubble, as Chakwas stared at them from the foot of Shepard's bed, a bottle of water in her hand. They apparently had missed the door opening. Garrus hastily stepped away from Shepard's bed, looking guilty.

"For the pain, Commander," Chakwas said, all business. She pressed two small white pills into Shepard's hand, along with a water bottle. "They'll make you drowsy, so I suggest you take the rest of the day off and sleep. As for you, Vakarian," she said, rounding on him. "Your dressings need to be changed, and then you should be resting as well. I'm not impressed with the rate this wound is healing, and I know it's because your obsession with the trajectory ratings of the Normandy's guns have been keeping you up at night." She made a discontented sound in her throat, and steered him to sit next to Shepard on the bed.

"I've been sleeping," he tried to protest, but she cut him off as she peeled back the bandage that cradled the right side of his face. Underneath, the wound was still angry, and parts of his clan markings had been lost to scar tissue.

"Officer Vakarian, do not assume this is my first time around turian patients. I know your work ethic, as well as your stubbornness." She sprayed a foul smelling astringent on the injury, coating it in a purple foam. "Now, I'm serious. I will proscribe you sleeping pills if this does not improve within the next few days, and I will watch you take them." Shepard sticks her tongue out at him, glad someone else was the target of Chakwas' frustration. The doctor patted the new bandage, bonding it to his skin. Stepping back, she shakes her head. "Off the record," she said, studying them. "Is there something I should know? About, oh, the two of you?" Her voice didn't sound angry, merely amused. Shepard felt Garrus still beside her, back rigid.

"No, Doctor Chakwas," she answered for the both of them, innocently. In part, it was the truth. There was nothing going on between them. Yet.

Chakwas studied them through narrowed eyes, then sighed and rubbed her temple. "You may go," she said dejectedly, and returned to her desk looking thoroughly exhausted.

Shepard and Garrus hurried out of the medbay towards the elevator, Shepard shaking her head.

"I honestly don't know how Cerberus talked her into coming back on the Normandy," she said, calling the elevator.

"She's good at what she does," Garrus mused, scratching at his bandage.

"Don't touch," Shepard batted his hand away from his face as the elevator door pinged open. They stepped inside, and as the silence settled around them, Shepard could feel the atmosphere ignite. She turned to Garrus. "Come up to my room."

"What?" he said, looking at her suspiciously. "You're injured. You need sleep. Not a handsome turian distraction."

She rolled her eyes, and pressed the button for her quarters. "You need sleep, too. And I guarantee a nice fluffy feather mattress is better than that cot in the battery."

The elevator slid to a stop, and Shepard grabbed his hand, pulling him into her room.

It was the first time anyone but herself had been in her quarters, and as she stepped down the stairs towards her closet, she watched Garrus observe her space. His eyes settled on the fish tank.

"A bit pretentious, don't you think?" he said, leaning against the glass. Shepard had her head buried in her closet, looking for clothes.

"Yeah, I still don't understand it," she said, voice muffled. "But the bed alone is worth it."

"Except you never sleep in it," Garrus said quietly. Shepard turned with a pile of clothes in her arms. "I'm going to shower," she said, crossing the room. "Make yourself at home."

As she let the hot water erase the kinks out of her back, Shepard tried to ignore the fact that Garrus was on the other side of her shower door, and she was in the shower, naked, wet, and sore. Her shoulder protested as she tried to wash her hair quickly, getting suds in her eyes. In the back of her mind, she was nervous about openly inviting him to her quarters. You're not on an Alliance vessel anymore, she reminded herself. This wasn't fraternization. If Cerberus had rules against such a thing, she really didn't give a damn, anyway. A louder voice told her that, after many years of being molded into a weapon, pointed at the most impossible targets, she deserved a little happiness.

She'd surprised even herself after propositioning Garrus that night in the battery. Shepard had never considered a cross-species tryst. Not that she hadn't received her fair share of lap dances from asari - or been hit on by, of all things, a volus. But in her gut Shepard felt that whatever feelings she had for Garrus crossed beyond the species boundary. It was the epitome of trust, and respect. She had found him on Omega, and almost lost him. And in those tense moments of uncertainty, as Chakwas worked to save him, she had realized she simply could not continue her mission without him. She was unsure of the exact reason, but the moment he had taken his helmet off in that busted apartment was the first time she had felt alive since being resurrected. She had come to care for him so deeply that the thought of being without him was as painful to her as dying again.

Startled by this revelation, she shut the water off, shivering in the cold recycled air. The towels provided by Cerberus were cushy and soft, and she dried herself and dressed, wrapping her hair up in a smaller terrycloth. Her N7 sweatpants and shirt would have to do, because anything more involved than slipping a tee over her head would aggravate her sore shoulder.

She stepped out of the bathroom to find Garrus sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at her warily.

"I, uh…Commander," he faltered. "Are you sure?"

She crossed the room and put a finger to his mouth. "Garrus, why are you so nervous? Take your armor off, climb into bed, and sleep."

Garrus stared up at her, searching her face. "If you insist." He began to unlatch the catches of his armor.

"May I?" Shepard asked, resting a hand on his gauntlet. He nodded, and she deftly clicked the latch and twisted it off, placing it by her nightstand. His elbow and shoulder guards followed, then chest plate, legs and greaves. He had to do his boots himself; she couldn't quite master the art of pulling them off over his spurs. Shed from his armor, he was still imposing, black padded undersuit soaking up the light from the aquarium. She helped him unzip it from the back, surveying the back of his head and neck. Where fringe met skull, he had overlapping plates, that ended at the base of his neck. The skin there was soft, the same as under his jaw and down the front to his chest. She marveled at the coloring; deep, steely grey that reflected brilliant blue when the light hit it just right. His back was tightly muscled and tense. She pushed the suit down over his shoulders and trailed a finger down the back of his head to the base of his neck, where plate ended and soft flesh began. He gave a shiver of delight.

"What are you doing back there?" he quipped, leaning forward so she could pull the bottom of the undersuit from where it had been tucked into his pants.

"Observing," she said innocently, and she sat back on her heels as he pulled the suit off over his head, carefully avoiding his fringe. "Now, bed. Doctor's orders." She scurried up to the headboard and threw back the covers, patting the mattress next to her. He stared at her for a second, then crawled over next to her.

"Human beds aren't really equipped for fringe and leg spurs," he groaned, struggling to find a comfortable way to lay down.

"Aha! But I have the answer!" she said brightly, and reached to the nightstand for the bed controls. Depressing a button, she saw Garrus flinch momentarily as his side of the bed began to deflate, burying him slightly deeper in fabric.

"Oh," he said, staring at her with round eyes. "Oh. I think I could get used to this." He folded a pillow and placed it under his head, letting his body sink into the soft mattress. The added plushness allowed room for the mattress to form around his spurs, and he sighed, content. "I may never leave this bed, Shepard," he said softly, eyes following her as she settled into her pillows.

"And I may ok with that, Vakarian," she answered with a happy sigh. He was relaxed, and she silently thanked whatever deities had been kind enough to save him. Lightly, she reached over and began to trace his clan markings, bright blue against steel grey. "This isn't some cultural taboo that you'll have to kill me in my sleep for, is it?" she asked lightly.

"Hmm," he mused. "Yes, and no. But continue." In turn, he reached over and traced the line of her jaw, wondering at the smooth, tan skin and smattering of freckles dusting her cheekbones.

"You know," she said quietly, relishing the feel of his finger on her face. "My people have clan markings. Of a sort."

"What?" he was genuinely surprised, and stopped tracing the line of her jaw to stare, much to her dismay.

"Humans have different races," she said, edging along his injured mandible. "My people were the first to live on the continent of North America. There was this man who came from Spain, named Christopher Columbus. He was trying to find a route to India, for the spice trade. Instead, he landed on what is now the United States. Of course," she continued lightly, a hint of laughter in her voice. "He thought he was in India, because my ancestors were tan-skinned like the actual people of India. So he dubbed us 'Indians'. Nowadays, what's left of my people prefer to be called 'Native Americans'. Because that's what we are. Were."

"Were?"

"After Chris Columbo discovered the New World, people started sailing over from Europe and colonized what is now New England. Of course, like galactic colonization, there are diseases that are spread," she slid a finger down the bridge of his nose. "Or wars that are fought." She stopped at his mouth, tracing the edge of his upper lip. "My people, the Cherokee, lived all over the southeast and then into the Great Plains. But when the Europeans decided to push farther into our land, they displaced us, a forced migration. The Trail of Tears, I believe is what history books refer to it as. Since then, my people have…dwindled. We have lost a lot of our language and culture, even thought we tried to retain it. You and the general public know me as Lana Shepard. But when I enlisted with the Alliance, I changed my name on paper to something more...generic. My birth name is Ahyoka."

"Ahyoka?" he tested the word on his tongue, gently nipping her finger. She giggled.

"It means 'she brought happiness'. My mother was full-blood Cherokee, my father was of some mixed European decent. She was one of the last full-blooded Cherokees in our entire clan."

"Your clan?"

"Mhmm." She scooted closer to him, and resumed tracing his markings. "Anisohoni," she tapped his nose lightly. "It means 'Blue Clan'."

Garrus stared at her incredulously, eyes wide. "Interesting. My translator definitely didn't catch that word." He mused a bit, counting freckles. "So you have clan markings?"

Shepard laughed breathily. "Yes and no. My people don't paint their faces every day anymore. Now it's done for special ceremonies. But my ancestors did it in times of celebration and war. War paint."

He grabbed her hand, which had been tracing a path along his brow, and pressed it to his mouth. "Show me," he said against her fingers.

"Hmmm…alright." She swung up from the bed and pulled a bag out from her nightstand drawer. She didn't have paint, but she had black liquid eyeliner in a glass pot, the waterproof kind, which would do. Garrus sat up too, watching her intently. He looked as if he was holding his breath, shoulders rigid. She dipped her thumb in the pot, covering it in black. "I haven't…the last time I had my face painted was when I was a child. For the solstice. I don't remember exactly..."

She closed her eyes and drew a line from her left temple, across her closed lids, the bridge of her nose, to her right temple. Repeating the motion again, she dabbed, thickening the line, filling it in under her brow and under her eyes. A line went from the center of her bottom lip down to the hollow of her throat, and she stopped, blinking against the drying cosmetic. Her eyes focused on Garrus' face, and she gasped. He was staring at her with absolute…reverence. It was the only word she could use to describe it. He was sitting upright, his hands resting on the bed between them, palms up - an invitation.

"Ahyoka," he said quietly, reaching towards her. Her breath hitched, and she placed the bag back on the nightstand, slowly turning back to him and placing her hands in his. Gently, he pulled her towards him, settling her in his lap. "You bring me happiness, you know," he said, leaning down to brush his face in her dark hair.

"It can't all be shooting guns and fighting bad guys," she quipped, goosebumps forming where his warm breath met her throat.

He lifted his head to study her again, tracing the now dry lines of black ink. "Yes, and it can't all be me pulling your ass out of the fire." His voice was light and playful, but his eyes never left her face, intent. She could feel his heart pounding. Tentatively, she reached out and placed a hand on his chest, above his keel bone, where his heartbeat was strongest. His free hand covered hers, and fingers that had been tracing the paint curled around the back of her head, pulling her to him, their foreheads touching.

Shepard knew what the gesture meant. Part of her was fighting to keep control of her breathing, and part of her wanted to stop time completely, mission be damned. He was here, alive, in her bed, radiating warmth and touching his forehead to hers in what would be akin to saying, I am yours, you are mine. She became acutely aware of how fast her heart was racing, and knew he could see her vital readouts in his visor, but she was beyond caring. That moment, something inside her shifted, and all of the pain she had felt, from the moment she opened her eyes on the lab table, to watching the gunship take Archangel down, to so many abducted colonists on Horizon…all of it seemed to lift from her chest and she could breathe. Taking a great, shuddering gulp of air, she threw her arms around his neck and crushed herself against him, pliant body finding a way to fit against his sharp angles. His arms encircled her with scorching heat, and he drew her down to lay next to him, trapped in their embrace.

"Sleep, I think," he mumbled into her hair, and she smiled against the skin of his neck.

"The good doctor ordered it." She nestled closer to him, tucking her legs up against his.

"Mmm...and we know that Commander Shepard is good at following orders."

So she let herself drift, and for the first time in her new life, she slept soundly.


	5. Chapter V

He awoke in increments, impossibly comfortable and deliciously warm. The first time he surfaced to consciousness, he was aware of a bed instead of his cot. The second time, he felt her warmth. The third time, he blinked furiously, clearing his vision, and took in the sight of his commander, curled up on her side, fast asleep.

Her hair was a dark, wild halo around her face, soft waves of impossibly soft ochre, catching the blue light from the aquarium, laying against the angles of her face. Smooth, freckled skin glowed tan and warm, the scar above her eyebrow a startling contrast to her contentment. Black paint wrapped around her temple, across the bridge of her straight nose, continuing on to disappear into the side of her face pressed into the pillow. The line she had drawn over her bottom lip to the base of her throat was almost an invitation, and arrow pointing to the places Garrus secretly wished to touch; the hollow between her sternum, the soft curve of her collarbones. Her shirt had ridden up in her sleep, and as he continued his visual exploration, he noticed the soft curve of her waist and hip, the small swell of the bottom of her breast peeking from underneath the shirt. Below it, in black ink not unlike the color of her war paint, there were numbers tattooed onto her skin, stacked in neat columns along the her side. They started just below the crease where rib met breast, and continued down, following the curve of her body, and ended at her hip. So many coordinates, Garrus mused, resisting the urge to trace them. He knew tattoos were common in humans, asari, even batarians, and his own clan markings were not much different from permanent skin ink. But these were an anomaly to him. He was well aware he could pick out a set and enter it into his omni-tool, but something about the way they were tucked on her body, hidden from plain view unless she was in a state of undress, seemed intimate to him. A few of them seemed newer, the ink slightly darker than the rest. He counted twenty, stacked in a tight column that started at the base of her ribs and continued to where her waist flared and met hip, stopping right above the hemline of her pants.

A small piece of him was surprised the tattoos had not been lost as they rebuilt her, and though he shuddered at the thought of her lifeless body laying prone on a lab table, he came to the conclusion that the marks must have been of significant importance, and Lawson had deemed them worthy of preservation.

Her warm body was not the only proof of her resurrection. Scars, so many of them, some faded and old, some new and pink. Some had a very medical precision to them, where skin had been knit and woven back together, cybernetics lending a helping hand. One in particular caught Garrus' attention, a thick, silvery red line drawn across her right collarbone clear up and around to her back. His talons itched to trace it, but he resisted, knowing she really did need the rest.

He thought back to the night before, mulling over words and actions. She had removed his armor for him, and his undersuit, sly fingers ghosting over his skin in curiosity. Such a novel human trait, curiosity.

She had willingly invited him to her quarters, and shared her bed with him. While he was not terribly surprised, it also hadn't processed with him that she was, well, alive. Everything up until that moment had hazy edges, like looking back at a vibrant dream; from her grey eyes staring up at him through his scope, to her warm hand on his ruined face, covered in his blood, the back of her head in his scope, to her proposition in the forward battery…all of it was real, and yet not.

He wasn't sure if it was a defense mechanism - the inability to fully grasp the idea that this living, breathing woman was very much alive and for the most part well. He had spent two years mourning her death, lamenting over the could haves and should haves, losing himself at the bottom of the bottle in a shitty prefab Omega apartment. He absence was a sharp knife that never left his side, shoved between ribs right into his heart. Not until the announcement of her death had he realized just how fully devoted his life had become to not only her, but the lessons she taught him. With every tactical decision he made, undercurrents of her were present. Every time he raised his rifle and scoped a target, his muscle memory was an echo of techniques he had developed while on the battlefield with her. From their very first meeting, to the disbandment of the Normandy crew, she had been the one constant present in his life he hadn't shirked off or given up on. More influential than his stint with C-Sec, more educational than his almost ten years in the turian military; she had taught him and molded him into a person he could accept.

There was no doubt in his mind that she was very much the same Commander Lana Shepard who he had said goodbye to on the Citadel. Her mannerisms were all there, the little things that couldn't be faked by simple cloning; quirks developed over time, the product of multitudes of individual experiences. Her appearance, well that was in tact, if not for a few added scars. But the oversight of the mental repercussions of raising her from the dead had been overlooked, and while Garrus was sure Lawson was well aware of Shepard's dwindling mental health, it was a large part of the puzzle they hadn't seemed to find a piece for. The science of the Lazarus Project was well over his head, but it didn't take someone with a PhD to realize Shepard was lost, a star on the verge of supernova.

The urge to touch her won over his concern about her sleeping habits, and he ran a finger along the curve exposed collarbone, stopping to trace the vivid scar on her shoulder. She stirred under his touch, eyelids fluttering, making soft, sleepy noises.

"Like what you see, Vakarian?" she whispered, her voice laced with fatigue.

"Mmm," he mused, his breath catching at the contrast her grey eyes made against black paint. "Not bad."

She reached out a hand to touch his bandage, smiling. "I don't know if I've ever seen you without your visor on."

He had removed it at some point in the night, after the hard metal frame dug into the side of his head uncomfortably. It was resting on the nightstand.

"Yeah well I figured if someone came to kill you in your sleep, they'd be terrified of the way your hair looks and run away screaming. So really, it wasn't needed."

She smacked him on the shoulder. "Is it really that bad? That's why I don't go to bed with wet hair." Coyly, she threw a leg over his hip and pulled herself closer, molding herself to his chest. Her sudden proximity to him elicited a growl low in his throat.

"Big bad Vakarian trying to scare me away?" she breathed, her eyes challenging him.

His pupils dilated as he studied her face, framed by her messy head of hair. She looked downright feral, and in one swift move, he rolled her onto her back, pinned down by his hips.

"Big bad Commander Shepard scared of a turian?" He drug his muzzle against the curve of her shoulder, memorizing her scent. He hissed as her hips bucked up against him, seeking purchase and friction. Soft human fingers found the sensitive skin at the base of his fringe, nails scratching down the back of his head. He could feel himself slipping into something more primal, and as her scent filled his nose, his head began to spin. Her hands found his waist, and she scratched her nails down his side. He answered with another throaty growl.

"Your shoulder, Shepard," he said lustily against her chest. She squirmed beneath him, and he sat up slightly, afraid he had aggravated her injury. Instead, he found her gazing at him with intensity, and she flashed her teeth in response. Not a human smile, but a threat, a challenge. He seized her wrists in his hands and brought her arms above her head. The movement lifted her shirt up over her breasts, exposing the swells of flesh. Where cold air met flesh, goosebumps spread along her chest and stomach. Shepard kept her eyes locked on his as he surveyed her skin, drinking in the sight of this woman laying prone underneath him. Fruitlessly she bucked her hips against him again, trying to shake him off. He growled again, pinning her harder, transferring her wrists into one hand, the other tracing the swell of her right breast. Under him, Shepard began to pant, twisting, trying to free her hands so she could explore him. He nipped the soft skin of her belly and she whimpered.

"Garrus…"

He could smell her arousal, hot and slick, but he resumed tracing the curve of her waist, leaving small red lines where his talons met flesh. In a surprisingly primal manner, she growled back at him, and he stopped his exploration to stare at her. She met his eyes, grey against black, and after a moment of contemplation, she leaned her head back and exposed the soft underside her throat to him.

With blinding speed, Garrus hooked a finger in the top of her pants and skimmed them down her legs, leaving her gloriously bare. Her shirt followed, discarded somewhere over his shoulder, and he released her hands so she could undo the zipper of his pants. Her deft fingers made quick work of the fabric, and soon he was free, heart hammering in his chest. With grace, he grabbed her by her thighs and pulled her down away from the headboard, spreading her open. Her scent was filling his head, completely overruling any civilized part of his brain. Her eyes met his, and he buried himself in her.

It had been too long since he had lost himself in someone else. Physicality without strings attacked - being wound up mission after mission with no release. The body under him was completely different from a female turian, but it made no difference to him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, ghosting his mouth against the side of her neck, tasting the pulse point there. Shepard moaned and arched against him, hooking her legs around his hips and meeting him with each thrust. It had been too long, and the smell and sight of her coming undone beneath him was enough to make him breathless.

"Ahyoka," he whispered against her ear. She smiled and tightened around him, eyes squeezing shut as she unraveled. Her expression was his undoing, and he held her tightly, growling into her hair.

As his heart rate slowed to normal levels, he laid back on his side and studied her body supine next to him, wearing nothing but her dog tags.

"What did you think of my reach?" he quipped, smoothing a lock of hair away from her face.

"Mmm," she said throatily, catching his hand and kissing his fingers. "It was adequate. I can only assume my flexibility was up to par?"

"Oh, it was alright," he winked at her. "No reactions?" he asked more seriously, gesturing to her body with an open hand.

"No, I knew a while ago I didn't have a dextro allergy. Made the mistake of ingesting some turian rations instead of a levo MRE after a drunken card game. It was disgusting, but I got away without anaphylaxis."

"Hmm," Garrus mused. "You're just lucky, aren't you."

"Something like that," she replied, an undercurrent of irony in her voice. Sitting upright, she stretched, and for the second time Garrus marveled at the pull of muscles under smooth skin. "What time is it?"

"0643. Aka the crack of dawn." He lounged, hands tucked behind the back of his fringe, appraising her contentedly. She rose from the bed gracefully, testing the rotation of the injured shoulder. Her back was a patchwork of old, healing scars and new, vibrant red scratches. She had another tattoo that ran from the top of her spine down to the base, intricate geometric shapes that followed her muscles as they bunched. There was something primitive and alluring about the design.

"Shepard," he said quietly, not sure if he was crossing into dangerous territory. Everything between them had gone, well, better than he could have hoped, and he didn't want to ruin the mood by being nosy. She half-turned to look at him over her shoulder, ferreting for something in the closet. "Your…tattoos…" his voice drifted as his confidence wavered into nothing. She stiffened slightly, shoulders tensing.

"You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to. I was just curious."

"No, it's ok," she assured him, slipping a crooked smile his way. "They're not a secret, or anything. At least, the Alliance knows about them all, for identification purposes. Well, most of them." She gestured to the darker section of the coordinate markings.

"I may be a bit irritated that the Alliance has paperwork on your naked body," Garrus said lightly. Shepard smiled.

"After the Skyillian Blitz, after losing so many people I served with, I was having a hard time…dealing. The Alliance had awarded me the Star of Terra, but I still felt responsible for so many deaths." Garrus watched as her shoulders slumped, and she turned to continue searching through her closet. "I assisted with the body recovery, and identification." She found whatever she was looking for, and came to sit next to him on the bed. "The coordinates are where I found the bodies of my squad mates. And newer ones are from Alchera. Dog tag locations…since that was all that was left. I got them the last time we were docked at the Citadel."

The weight of her explanation settled on Garrus, heavy and cloying. The last time they were docked at the Citadel, she had prevented him from ending Sidonis, and he had sequestered himself in the battery for five days, stewing.

"I…Shepard…" he ran a hand along his fringe. "I didn't know. And here I was, pissed at you for teaching me a lesson, while you were dealing with the death of your crew alone." He grabbed her arm and pulled her across the bed towards him. She didn't resist, and instead fit her body against his. "I'm such an ass. Those were people I knew, people who I served with. I'm sorry."

"Garrus," she said, catching his face between her hands. Her eyes were earnest, surrounded by black paint. "It's fine. Alchera was something I needed to do alone. It was my burden. Those were my people. I owed it to them. This," she said, gesturing to column of small, neat numbers, "is the least I can do. I got to come back. I was given a second chance. They…they weren't."

The weight of her words settled over the bed, and he realized she was giving him a rare glimpse of the inner turmoil that kept her locked down inside herself.

"You feel guilty about being alive, don't you?" he asked, pulling her closer. She sighed, and shook her head against his chest.

"Yes, and no. There were better people on that ship than me, Garrus. Cerberus didn't spend four billion credits to rebuild them." She shrugged her shoulders, a uniquely human gesture. "But here I am, curled up in the lap of my turian gunnery officer, naked. Thanks, Cerberus. I'm sure this is exactly how you wanted this to go." She gives him a wink and hops off the bed.

The shutters are closed, and while Garrus was thankful for her brief moment of honesty, he knew that was all he was going to get from her for a while.

"I'm going to shower and try to get this paint off," she said, a hint of promise in her voice. "Care to uh, join me?"

He was off the bed in a flash, scooping her up with a very un-Shepard-like squeal, and carried her to the bathroom, mouth pressed against hers.


	6. Chapter VI

**A/N**: Kind of a weak filler chapter. Not too sure how I feel about this one. Thanks to **grecians** on 8tracks for the fantastic writing music; the ode to turians mix helped me power through this. I promise I'll be back with something better. Pinky promise.

Characters property of Bioware.

* * *

"I would use semi-permanent makeup to prove a point," Shepard groaned. They were fully clothed and clean, waiting for the elevator to take them to the mess. She had tried fruitlessly to scrub the black paint off her face, but the asari manufacturer apparently took waterproof very seriously. It would require a specific remover solvent, which she did not have. She made a mental note to pick some up the next time they were on Illium.

"I like it," Garrus purred, tracing the line from her bottom lip to the hollow of her throat with a talon, and her heart rate spiked at his contact.

"Yes, I know. I'm just not quite sure how I'm going to explain it." There was significant cultural blending, not just on Earth, but on the colonies as well. Many of those from ethnic backgrounds still tried to cling to their histories, for some semblance of normal. As a child, she had been used to seeing the elders of Mindoir in full ceremonial paint almost every day. During colonization, many ethnic groups tried to reclaim the purity of their culture, creating pockets of clans who worshipped the same way her ancestors had hundreds of years ago. Her mother wore paint quite often, mainly because of her social standing in the clan, and also as a mark of her office as healer. Shepard shook her head, ridding herself of memories she did not want to dredge up. The door pinged, and they stepped on the elevator.

"They're your crew. You're their commanding officer. You don't need to explain it."

"Hmm." Even her and Garrus getting off the elevator together was bound to start some form of gossip. Small ship, bored crew. She didn't really care, because her and Garrus were the only ones besides EDI with explicit knowledge of what went on in her quarters. Explicit knowledge Shepard had asked EDI to scrub from her databank before departing her room that morning. Shaking her head, she took a brief moment to lean against him, savoring the heat radiating through is armor. He leaned back, making a small, happy noise.

"I'm happy you're alive, Ahyoka." The use of her birth name caught her off guard, and she reached up to kiss him. He intercepted her, and pressed his forehead to hers. The elevator shuddered to a stop, and grudgingly they stepped apart.

"Go play with your guns, Vakarian. I'm sure you can squeak 3% more out of them." He smacked her rear playfully as the door slid open, making her yelp.

"You won't be saying that when the Thanix is installed," he growled low as they stepped out of the elevator together. It was still early enough that the mess was fairly empty. She shot him a look of prove it, and steeled herself, putting on her metaphorical commander mask. All business, the picture of professionalism. She smoothed her uniform down, picking at the white fabric. Damn Cerberus.

Garrus settled on a chair and started harassing Gardener about his choice of dextro breakfast, and Shepard stole a small smile, watching him lean his elbows against the kitchen island.

A levo ration bar and juice purloined from the cooling unit was enough breakfast for her, and she proceeded to Miranda's office, trying to suppress thoughts of her and Garrus in supine positions, joined together.

The XO blinked up at Shepard from her desk, obviously confused by the commander's makeup choice.

"Good morning, Commander. Celebrating something?" she asked with an innocent tone.

"Just reminiscing. My mother used to paint my face, before…" she trailed off. Miranda knew enough not to continue on the subject, and Shepard silently patted herself on the back for steering the woman away from a conversation Shepard didn't want to have. She crossed her fingers than Miranda wouldn't cross-reference the date back on Earth.

"Ah yes. So, I have more dossiers from the Illusive Man, a report on the Thanix cannon Garrus has managed to commandeer for us, and a request that you investigate an anomaly over in the Xe Cha system."

"Another easy mission?" Shepard shot, rubbing her shoulder. Her morning escapades had aggravated the sore muscles.

"Yes, I know how fond of them you are. This one seems to be rather straight-forward. Reports of a Blood Pack hide out."

"Just asking to go sideways," Shepard said quietly. Miranda shot her a raised eyebrow look.

"You appear well-rested, Commander," she said. A minute amount of apprehension tripped into Shepard's bloodstream, and she crossed her fingers that all of the bugs and surveillance had been swept from her room. Tali had assured her, after all. But something about Miranda's tone made her nerves stand on edge.

"Chakwas proscribed me pain killers for my shoulder. They knocked me right out," Shepard replied, scanning over the data pad in hand. She let out a low whistle. "Damn. That Thanix cannon looks amazing. Thank god for turians." Again, she squashed explicit images from taking over her thoughts.

"Yes, it promises to be a real force against the Collectors. I would rather not lose another Normandy."

"I hear you there, Miranda." Shepard gave her a curt nod and stepped out of her office, scanning the schematics. Garrus was going to have a hay day with this gun.

She found him right where she had left him, harassing Gardener, or maybe the other way around. The cook seemed to be one of the few Cerberus crew who seemed completely at ease with the turian.

"Glad to see you washed your hands today before cooking my breakfast," Garrus quipped at Gardener as Shepard slid into the seat next to him.

"Yeah well, I have to cook for myself too, you know. Hey, Commander." Gardener gave her a loose salute with his spatula. "Thanks for those provisions from the Citadel. I feel like I'm cooking actual food instead of glue and sawdust."

"Of course," Shepard said, sliding a data pad over to Garrus. "Just promise me some eggs benedict and we'll call it even."

"Special occasion?" Gardener asked politely, staring at Shepard.

"Cultural thing. Going back to my roots." Next to her, Garrus' eyes lit up at the schematics.

"The Normandy is going to have teeth when this is installed," he said excitedly, flashing her the turian version of a smile, intact mandible flared wide.

"You and your toys, Vakarian," she laughed, shaking her head.

"If you were human, I'd say your gun obsession was your way of compensating for something," Gardener said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Garrus looked thoroughly confused.

"It isn't fair to confuse the turian with human idioms, Gardener."

"What are you talking about? That makes it more fun!"

"He's saying that your obsession with big cannons means you're compensating for what you lack in the man department," she explained quietly, hoping the look she gave him was crystal clear.

She was sitting on his injured side, where the bandage managed to cover the worst of the injury. It was a vivid reminder of his constant mortality, and she wondered just how many credit she would pay to bring him back from the dead. I never asked him about his clan markings, she thought quietly, and laced her fingers together as a place to rest her chin.

"Something on your mind, Shep?" Kasumi uncloaked in the chair next to her, sly grin on her face. "I dig the paint. You look hot."

"I actually think I heard you that time," Shepard said lightly. "And thanks. That means a lot, coming from you." She eyed the woman's purple face tattoos.

"Aren't we just the cutest trio?" Kasumi tucked her feet up underneath her and leaned over to get a good look at Garrus. "Blue, black, purple. All the colors of a bruise. Like the bruise we're going to give the Collectors."

"Do you write poetry, Kasumi?" Shepard asked innocently. The thief looked a little flustered, and in her head, Shepard added a tally to the scoreboard. Kasumi: 14, Shepard: 1.

"No," she responded, disappearing with her trademark shimmer.

"I want you to mod my tactical cloak!" Shepard said, a little louder. She heard a curt laugh in response, somewhere near the elevator.

"Speaking of mods," she mused to no one in particular. "I need to see Mordin about some tech. You're not the only one who gets excited at the prospect of big guns, Vakarian."

"If I remember correctly, Commander," he stared down at her without turning his head, his profile striking in the mess hall lights. "The last 'big gun' you shot knocked you on your ass, as well as knocked you out, and I had to take down a Praetorian before it killed us both."

"Yeah, yeah," she said dismissively, waving a hand at him as she made her way to the elevator. "I expect those cannons will be ready for installation the next time we dock, Vakarian."

He gave her a loose salute and a wink. "Of course, Commander. I aim to please."

* * *

Mordin's lab was always filled with the sounds of activity, even thought it was always just the salarian himself running experiments. Shepard tried to ignore what seemed to be the smell of burning rubber, and made her way over to the doctor.

"Shepard. Hello," Mordin greeted her over a few vials filled with a violent yellow liquid.

"Hi Mordin. You said you had a new toy for me?"

"Ah yes." Shepard swore she could see his eyes light up with excitement. "Was able to procure some…experimental tech. Know you are partial to sniper rifles." He lead her over to a weapons locker, pulling out a massive gun and laying it on the table between them. "Prototype, very powerful. Will shoot through light cover. Suggest picking up a thermal scope."

"Mordin, I love you," Shepard breathed, running her fingers along the gun. It was beautiful, as far as a gun was concerned. And huge. It had to be at least half as long as she was tall.

"Feelings are mutual, Shepard. Now, I must warn you, prototype not suitable for other human crew members. Recoil…too strong. Risk of catastrophic bone breakage. Your cybernetics make that point moot for you; boneweave and skinweave sufficient."

"Wait, seriously?" she said breathlessly, eyes wide. "So this is just for me?"

"For now, yes. Will work on prototype for Officer Vakarian. Suggest keeping it a secret. A…surprise. Gift for mate."

"What?" Shepard stopped violating her new toy to stare at the scientist. "My what?"

"Mate. Noticed increased pheromone levels in both you and Officer Vakarian. Signs of copulation."  
"Mordin," Shepard said, quiet voice dripping with contempt. "This is a conversation I do not feel like having, especially with you. Now, I'm going to take my new gun, and if you would like me to not sight it in using you as a target, I suggest you shut up. Now."

"Increased defensiveness. Elevated heart rate. Dialated pupils. Will send informative literature to your cabin. Positions comfortable for both species. Detailed physiological diagrams. Lotions to prevent chaffing. Antihistamines in case of allergic reaction." He drew in an excited breath. "Willing to participate in case study? Human/turian relationships uncommon. Need more data."

Shepard lifted the gun up from the table, testing the weight. It was beautifully balanced, and she raised it to her shoulder in a practiced motion.

"Mordin. What did I say?" she said, deadly quiet.

"Ah…yes. Will find different human/turian relationship for case study. Need to return to experiment." And he hurriedly busied himself pouring different liquids into varying beakers.

* * *

Shepard had chosen the Blood Pack base mainly because she wanted to test out the new toy Mordin had gifted her, and slightly to appease Lawson. Garrus was unsure of exactly what this new toy was, but Shepard had returned from his lab with a look on her face that he could only describe as elated.

He leaned against the shuttle, fully armored, waiting. He could already tell he was going to have to work very hard to keep certain images out of his mind during the mission.

"Hello, Garrus." Kasumi appeared at his side, leaning against the shuttle much like he was. "Where's Shep?"

"Shep is right here," the commander replied, striding into the cargo bay, black armor shining. Garrus repressed a growl; the sight of her in full armor, sniper strapped to her back, eyes framed by black paint was almost more than he could handle.

"Damn, girl," Kasumi mused appreciatively. "I am digging this new look. Now if only I could convince you to put this much effort into your civilian clothes…"

"No, Kasumi."

The thief smiled, white teeth flashing. "We'll see. I can be very persuasive."

"Anyway," Shepard continued, nodding to the shuttle pilot. He fired up the thrusters. "We're going to be hitting a Blood Pack base. Now, I want to shake things up a little bit, which is why I brought you, Kasumi. EDI did a scan, and there is some sort of energy source that we can overload and take out the entire base. Kasumi, that's where you come in." Shepard settled herself on a metal bench in the shuttle, closing the hatch. Garrus took a seat next to her, casually stretching his long legs. "Since your cloak is basically magical, Garrus and I should be able to cover you so you can rig something up to blow the whole thing sky high." Kasumi clapped her hands in delight, and Garrus couldn't help but smile. The petite thief was growing on him, regardless of her shady past. "Now, I'd like to do this without attracting too much attention to ourselves, because the sooner we take out the base, the less time the survivors have to contact their bosses. I have business I eventually need to take care of on Omega, and I'd rather not spend my shore leave getting chased by angry Blood Pack mercs."

Garrus perked slightly at the mention of Omega. He wasn't sure what business Shepard was talking about, but it made him apprehensive nonetheless. Omega wasn't a place he wanted to go back to; he hadn't completely come to terms with letting Sidonis live while his men had suffered. He understood Shepard's argument, but Archangel was still alive and well inside Garrus' mind, and he was still demanding blood.

Shepard's thick braid fell over her shoulder as she leaned forward to tell the shuttle pilot to take them down as covertly as possible, and Garrus resisted the urge to snap the band with a talon and let her hair fall in wild waves over her face. He could sense her excitement, and lust tripped into his bloodstream. He silently hoped that for once a mission would go as planned. His unsated appetite for Shepard would need to be satisfied, and the sooner they destroyed the base, the better.

The shuttle came to a rest on a grassy hill, meters above the entrance to the base. EDI had forwarded schematics to their omni-tools, and Kasumi was studying hers quietly as they stepped out.

"Looks pretty straight forward, Shep. I have about five minutes on my cloak, but if I have you both covering me, it should be sufficient time to get in, overload the system, and get out."

"Good." Shepard gave her a curt nod. "Garrus, what do we have down there?"

He pulled his sniper over his shoulder, extending it with a push of a button.

"Looks like ten Blood Pack mercs," he said, using his scope to view the entrance below them. "Mostly vorcha boom squad." He suppressed a shudder at the thought of rockets.

"Easy enough. That door is over a foot thick, so if we can pick them off quickly enough before they alert anyone inside the base, we should be good. I can go in cloaked with Kasumi and cover her."

Garrus pondered the plan, calculating. "We shouldn't split up. If we do go in, we would be better off using hand-to-hand to take out anyone in the base. The quicker and quieter we can get Kasumi in, the better. Completely covert."

"I like the way you think, Vakarian," Shepard purred, pulling her sniper from over her shoulder.

"New toy?" Garrus mused, eyes wide. The gun, once extended, was almost as tall as she was, black as night, and deadly looking. How Shepard could hold it, let alone fire it, was beyond him. Any weapon of that size was bound to have an impressive recoil.

"Oh you know," she said lightly, resting the muzzle of the gun against her shoulder. "Prototype tech. Mordin even let me name it. I think I'm going to call it the Widow." She stroked the barrel suggestively, and Garrus felt his heart rate increase. She was resting her weight on one hip, gun perched casually against her shoulder, black armor glinting in the sun. She looked positively deadly, and she was his.

He tapped his visor, bringing up a kill counter.

"Wanna play a game, Shepard?" he asked suggestively. If Kasumi noticed the lust laced into his subvocals, she ignored it.

"Does a quarian wear an enviro-suit?" she shot back with a smile.

He synced his visor to her hardsuit, and it brought up a dual display: G: 0; S: 0.

She settled gracefully onto her stomach, Widow extended in front of her. Garrus set up to her right, always on her right. Shepard had a tendency to shoot left, Garrus to the right. His Viper looked like a child's toy next to her new gun. He gazed at it appreciatively.

"Jealous, Vakarian?" she asked quietly, cheek resting against the Widow's stock. His visor was displaying her vital feedback, and he marveled at her ability to control her breathing even as her heart rate spiked. A good sniper's first ability was control; body, breathing, patience.

"Mmmm not as jealous as you're going to be when I beat you." He quipped, clicking the safety off on his rifle. To Shepard's left, Kasumi sat cross-legged, patiently typing codes into her omni-tool, no doubt crafting some sort of overload program.  
Through his scope, Garrus surveyed his prey. Vorcha rarely wore feasible armor, and their large heads made for easy targets.

"When you're ready," Shepard said, clicking off her safety. Garrus tapped his visor, and "Die for the Cause" began playing in his earpiece. Showtime, he thought excitedly, and pulled the trigger with an exhale.

Below, a vorcha's head exploded in an impressive shower of blood and brain matter. Before Garrus could even expel the heat sink, Shepard had fired, shooting through a metal crate and a vorcha skull. Garrus whooped excitedly.

"I fucking love this gun," Shepard breathed, lining up another shot. Her intensity caught Garrus off guard, and he watched her squeeze the trigger. The kickback racked through her arm with impressive force, but she remained still as ever, a sly smile on her face. Her body was a beautiful line, extended from her feet to the tip of her gun, shining dark and dangerous as star. The smell of hot ammunition, gun oil, and Shepard filled his nose, and Garrus smiled.

And I love you, he thought as he pulled the trigger.


	7. Chapter VII

**A/N**: Just a quick chapter; the next one will be longer. Actually pretty long. So here, to tide you over. :) It's so hard to write meaningful dialogue and stay within the character perimeters in my head. I hope I'm doing Garrus justice.

* * *

Garrus shuddered into consciousness with a violent gasp. He was pinned down, being choked by something. His hands tore at the binds, and the sheets fell away in shreds.

"Hey, hey," Shepard's face came floating into focus, concern etched in the v between her eyes. "You're fine, you're safe." She grabbed his wrists in her tiny hands, holding them with inhuman strength. "Garrus, breathe."

He blinked furiously, trying to focus on her face. His heart was hammering in his chest, and his breathing whistled through his teeth. Familiar smells started to register in his mind; recycled air, the clean kind, no smog. Hot water…Shepard must have taken a shower recently. Her hair hung damp over her shoulders, dripping onto his chest.

"Shh…" she ran a hand over his face, and her touch brought him jarringly into the present.

"Crap," he choked out. He had completely shredded her sheets in his panic. Her favorite sheets. "I'm so sorry."

Shepard laughed lightly, letting go of his other wrist to cup his head in her hands. "They're just sheets. I have about five other sets. It's ok."

He smiled sheepishly and sat up, shaking his head. "I thought I was back on Omega," he confessed softly. Dark thoughts swirled in his head. Where had he been before sleep? The Blood Pack base? His shoulder twinged as he settled against the headboard, mindful of his fringe. Right. A vorcha had shot at him, catching the soft chink in his armor between shoulder and chest. He had ended the disgusting creature by shoving the butt of his rifle against its face in a messy spray of blood.

Shepard settled back lightly against his side, rivulets of water running down her shoulders. He could tell she wanted to ask, so instead he continued.

"I had an apartment, more of a hole in the wall, really. A cot where I spent a lot of my time the first few months I was there. A volus information broker had set me up with a false identification, a proxy bank account and a new omni-tool. I wanted to get as far off the grid as possible."

"You certainly succeeded," Shepard said, not unkindly. "Cerberus couldn't even track you down. You should be proud."

Garrus laughed gruffly, nuzzling his face into her damp hair. "Yeah, something like that. I uh…drank. A lot. The only way I could sleep was if I passed out piss ass drunk. I think I spent three or four weeks holed up on that cot, feeling sorry for myself." He grunted in pain as he pulled her closer to his side. "I couldn't stop blaming myself, for everything that happened. The attack on the Normandy, your death…I went to your funeral, then booked a charter straight to Omega. I couldn't handle the bullshit political agenda after you were gone. It was a smear campaign; Udina lead the charge, spinning Sovereign into some robotic slave of Saren, built by the geth." He curled his hands into fists. "It was an insult to your memory, and I didn't want to be on the Citadel anymore, listening to the gossip my coworkers spewed. They weren't there, they didn't know, and yet they decided it was ok to talk about it like they knew." He sighed deeply.

"It's always easier to run and hide rather than accept the truth," Shepard offered. Typical Shepard, trying to find the good in people. Garrus growled low in his throat.

"I went to Omega to forget, and the only thing I forgot was who I was. I don't know who I became, but I'm still not myself, and I don't know if I ever will be again."

Shepard kicked a leg over him, straddling his hips, placing her hands on his chest.

"While you are certainly not the hot-shot C-Sec officer who raised hell with me on the original Normandy, you are still you, Garrus." Her wet hair had soaked through the light fabric of her t-shirt, making it cling to her skin. "You've grown. While I can't ask you to comprehend my death and Cerberus bringing me back, I can ask you to accept that you are just as much the Officer Vakarian I trust with my life. We all have scars, or if we're lucky, we're made of scars. Regardless of what you did while you were on Omega, you are still Garrus. And it's ok if there is still a little or a lot of Archangel in you. I think you need that."

Garrus pondered her words carefully. It was true; Archangel had taken over a bit more of his personality than before her death. Nobody ever left Omega completely untouched; he had spend almost two years there, the first few months at the bottom of a bottle. Her death had twisted something in him until it broke. He was no longer a stuttering young C-Sec officer straight out of military academy. There was a darker tinge to the color of his soul, and he knew it.

Death had changed the Commander as well. Their mission into the depths of the Blood Pack base had spelled out the changes very clearly. No longer was she completely controlled on the battlefield. She was a whirlwind of silent death. Her tactical cloak didn't hide her, it made her more vicious. Garrus had watched in awe as the small woman had disappeared with a shimmer, only to reappear silently behind an unsuspecting merc, grabbing his helmet-clad head in her hands and twisting deftly until his neck snapped. Shepard had always been a weapon, pointed at the most dangerous enemies, but death had taken her, and she had risen above it to emerge victorious, scarred and deadly.

Garrus knew Archangel had taken over him when he found himself encouraging her violence. They had played a game, one that was as old as their friendship, Garrus' visor keeping a kill tally for them both. Shepard's blinding efficiency in short-range hand-to-hand was a godsend in the tunnels beneath the base. She was a predator, silent, lithe, fluid; everything Archangel had been. Her prowess during their mission had consumed him with an almost manic possessiveness. This beautiful, highly-trained woman was his favorite weapon, the most worthy prize he could ever hope to claim.

In the year he served under her, hunting Saren, never once did he consider himself her equal. She had tried to raise the hidden leadership potential she claimed to see in him, and he resisted. Garrus had never been a good turian. But now, there was a level playing field. Archangel was vicious, sure and proud. Skills honed under the red lights of Omega strengthened him better than any drill the turian military could throw at him. And Shepard had shown him the truth behind humanity. There was no more victory at any cost. There was victory with the help of his crew by his side. No more sacrifices in the name of honor.

"As long as you think you can handle it," he growled, pushing his face up against hers.

"I think I can. I'm actually glad for it, Garrus. And I'm glad that you're talking to me about this."

Feelings, and talking about them, was not a common part of turian culture. Garrus had learned from an early age to bite his tongue and bottle his emotions, or face the wrath of Acanthus Vakarian. The woman sitting next to him, however, was a completely different animal. The epitome of trust and respect, she made him feel comfortable enough to shuck the emotional restraints placed on him by proxy, and become something a little more open.

"If I don't talk about it, I'm afraid it'll consume me," he replied gruffly. "A distracted sniper is a dead sniper."

She kissed his scars lightly, rolling off him back onto the bed.

"When Miranda, Jacob and I escaped the Cerberus lab station, I had my first meeting with the Illusive Man." She ran a hand through her hair and flicked the water at him. "I asked him where my crew was, and he was able to give an excuse as to why they were busy, except for you. I think part of me died again when he said that. I knew, even after being alive for ten minutes, that I wouldn't be able to do this without you. I found Tali on Freedom's Progress, but she turned me down. Said her mission was too important. I think I started to second guess myself after that. The Cerberus crew, they're good. There's Joker, but half the time I can't take him seriously and half the time I can tell he's still so consumed by guilt at my death that looking at him is painful. But then I found you on Omega, and I had hope. Real, honest to god hope."

He studied her face. It had been months since she had rescued him, but a small part of his head still was not able to grasp her being alive. And that frustrated him. The things she had done weren't supposed to be possible, and yet she had taken down a reaper, died, and come back. But those two years she was gone were still fresh in his mind.

"My first kill on Omega was a batarian gang leader," he said softly. He wasn't sure why he kept talking about his stint as Archangel, but it felt necessary. So he continued. "His crew was responsible for a bunch of human deaths, and all I could think about was the slavers who killed all those people on Mindoir. There as a little girl, human…couldn't have been older than twelve. One of Shurta's men broke into her family's apartment and shot her mother point blank with armor-piercing ammo. They were looking for her father; apparently he owed them money. When I found her, she was almost dead, covered in her mother's blood and her own. I don't know what they did to her, but the puddle of blood was enough that I knew she wasn't going to make it. That night, I broke into Shurta's stronghold. Broke both of the guard's necks, then shot everyone who came in between me and Shurta. He begged me, for his life." Garrus shook his head. "In the end, I was pretty merciful. I think he believed that when I turned around to walk away, I was going to let him live. I pulled my gun up so fast, and the bullet was so quick, I don't even think there was pain. Certainly not as much pain as that little girl went through."

Shepard was still beside him, staring at the fish tank.

"I left the Citadel because I wanted to make a difference, but I couldn't make a difference with all the lies hanging over me. Omega…Omega was a pisshole, but it was also something that kept me going, for a while." He signed deeply, rubbing his eyes. "I should have kept speaking up. Maybe I could have made the Council believe, or rallied the old crew. But Wrex had gone back to Tuchanka, to try and join the clans. Tali went back to the flotilla, and Liara went back to Thessia. I could have gone back to Palaven, but I was a coward. Going back home would have meant facing my dad, and I wasn't ready for that yet."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Garrus," Shepard said quietly. "We all cope in different ways. If I could take it back, I would. Sometimes, I think I should have just stayed dead. But then, I think back to finding you half dead in that pisshole apartment, and if I hadn't been there to pull your ass out of the fire, you would have been dead too."

Garrus snorted. "Everyone should have known that even death couldn't stop Commander Fucking Shepard. I'm just surprised it took you two years to come back."

"Yeah well, it takes a lot to rebuild something this awesome," she said with a wink.


	8. Chapter VIII

Agreeing to help Samara was something that Shepard didn't even hesitate with. The soft-spoken asari was a powerhouse, but distracted by a mission that was still unfinished. Shepard found herself drawn to the woman; she was one of the only people on the ship the commander could talk to other than Garrus. Samara had guessed immediately the nature of her and Garrus' relationship, after witnessing them fighting together during a routine mission. Since joining the Normandy, Samara was often meditating in the starboard observation deck.

Shepard had always questioned her own judgment. After Virmire, and Ashley's subsequent death, she found it more and more difficult to trust her gut feelings. The two years she was dead didn't do much to help bolster her confidence. While she would never hesitate to point and shoot mercs, any serious decision she made was followed by guilt and second guesses, until Shepard watched Samara kill her own daughter with the cool confidence of someone who was utterly sure their decision was correct.

And so, during down time between mass relay jumps, Shepard found herself outside the starboard observation deck door, chewing the inside of her lip. Increasing pressure from the Illusive Man had Shepard fretting over every single decision, and she wanted quiet. She didn't expect to end up at the asari's quarters, but her feet had taken her there, and she wasn't about to turn back. So, steeling her nerves, she palmed the door open.

"Commander," the asari justicar said quietly, back turned towards the door. Shepard had yet to figure out how the woman knew who was coming without looking, but she figured several hundred years of life gave someone a lot of practice.

"I hope I'm not interrupting you," Shepard said, taking a seat on the floor next to Samara. The view from the room was quiet and beautiful, looking out over the vast expanse of stars, the Normandy's wake creating blue auroras that eddied past the window.

"Of course not. I was just taking some time to reflect." Samara turned her head to study the commander, noting how weary and tense the young woman looked.

"Do you ever second guess your decisions?" Shepard asked quietly, eyes not leaving the window. Her shoulders tensed slightly as the question slipped past her lips. Samara studied her more openly, taking in the sad, desolate look in her eyes, the scars that still had not healed.

"In my life, I have learned that each choice we make is a chance to learn. Often, it does not matter if the conclusion was correct or incorrect; more importantly, it is the lesson you have learned from it." Shepard nodded, and the asari continued.

"You have never asked to be a hero. You have merely been raised to the top of the pedestal, because you are not afraid to make the choices necessary. Humans like to categorize their lives and decisions into 'good' and 'evil'. Asari, with our long lifespans, have come to know that there is more to this universe than black and white."

Unbidden, a conversation with Garrus floated to the top of Shepard's consciousness.

"If a person believes they are doing the right thing, then inherently, the decision is good," Samara's eyes are locked on the view out the window, but are seeing beyond more than just stars. "But what if that decision is to take the life of someone who has wronged them? They may justify the revenge as good, and the victim as evil. But every action leading up to that is more than black and white, because good and evil have bled together. Grey.

"Sapient beings comfort themselves with justifications, excuses, motives. In the grand scheme of things, any decision an individual in this universe makes will impact the very fabric of continuity. As humans were emerging from the primordial muck thousands of years ago, the asari were producing art, developing culture, having our...industrial revolution, if you will. As humans were learning to walk upright, asari were starting to turn our focus to the stars, and what lay beyond Thessia. As humans were developing spoken languages, building towns and learning to farm, the asari took flight and discovered the Citadel.

"However, you are not primitive. Not in the definition of the word. In the short time your people have been walking upright on Earth, you have accomplished so much, which, with your short lifespans, is impressive, if not slightly selfish. At the cost of Earth's resources, you became a race capable of space flight, and as you landed upon the surface of Mars, the technology of a people much more advanced than you furthered your goals. Your drive to become more lead to the eventual need to emigrate your population from your homeworld, or risk mass extinction. Humans expanded, and discovered that they were not the only sapient beings in the galaxy."

Shepard shifted slightly, her breathing slow and relaxed as she took in the soft cadence of the justicar's words. Samara sensed Shepard was looking for further validation, and continued.

"Your recent ancestors began a brief but bloody conflict with the turians in what humans refer to as the First Contact War. After thousands of years believing to be the only intelligent life in a very, very large galaxy, humans were thrown off their pedestal when they discovered turian culture. Here was a race that was not only more advanced, but animalistic, with a military power to match. It is my belief that humans attempted to repeat with the turians the actions they took against your ancestors, the Native Americans. Savages, who needed to be caught and tamed, their wills bent to do the bidding of humans, the superior race. Some may argue that the turian's attack on Shanxi was the first shot fired, but human records show what scientists did to turian prisoners of war. Here again, there is not black and white. There is grey.

"Commander, the difference between you, the hero, and the rest of your race, is that you are, in a way, more advanced." Shepard felt her eyes widen, and she turned to look at the asari, confused. "Growing up in a military family, serving in the Alliance, you should have developed the ingrained instinct of humans first. Ironically, turians are similar. Their entire culture is based around providing for the whole, but at whatever cost. However, you have deviated from the norm. Your first Normandy, an Alliance vessel, was maintained by a skeleton team of humans, but those you chose to take into battle with you were not of your species. You trusted a turian with your life, countless times. One generation after the first contact war, your second in command is the very race that your people sought to conquer and control.

"Your interests are not solely those of your people. The fabric of your life has been woven tightly with the threads of the quarian, asari, turian, drell, krogan. Your bigger picture is the salvation of the galaxy as whole, the preservation of the very fabric you have embroidered with your knowledge and trust. Each of the individuals you have helped, whether you or they believe your choices were good, extends far beyond that single person. It is the thread that connects to the fabric of their family, their culture, and their people. In the deepest part of your very being, you believe that every sapient being is worth saving. And Commander, that is the significant difference." The asari settled her gaze on Shepard, and extended her hands, cupping a ball of vibrant biotic energy.

"You cannot have light without dark." She raised her hands above her head, bathing them in a flickering, alien glow that threw their shadows against the floor of the room. "And darkness cannot breed life." The pulsing ball of energy grew larger and brighter, consuming every shadow in the room.

Shepard turned her head back to the vast expanse of stars, and sighed. So many words hung unspoken in her mouth, but she couldn't find her voice.

"I wish everyone saw it that way." She finally confessed.

"Shepard, I sense that you did not come here just to hear the defense of your decisions on the battlefield." Samara let her biotic energy disperse, and the room darkened. Shepard tensed, hands balled into fists in her lap.

"I have lived, many, many years," the asari continued sagely, studying the young woman sitting next to her. "And if the goddess allows, I hope to live a few more. I have traveled as much as you have. Before my time as justicar, I had a family. The gift of a millennia of life is not only self discovery, but the discovery of finding oneself in another person. I loved my family, and my bond mate, the father of my daughters. I did not stray outside my race, because I found the other half of me in another asari. And I was punished for it."

Shepard started to protest, but the justicar held up a hand.

"In my lifetime, I have never had the chance to see the incarnation of a person's soul in another individual. That is, until I stepped aboard the Normandy. Less than a generation after a violent and bloody war that ended on the cusp of your birth, a turian has become the manifestation of a human, and a human the manifestation of a turian. To see you and Officer Vakarian together on the battlefield is something I will never forget, and I thank the goddess I have been able to witness something so beautifully dangerous.

"Conflict is a dance. Have you ever wondered why, when you and Garrus spar, it always ends in a draw? How, when you two face danger, your actions are wordless? You dance." With a pause, Samara invited Shepard to protest, but the human was at a loss for words, trying to catch up to the direction the conversation had veered.

"He is the manifestation of your soul, in flesh and blood. He is the embodiment of your baser human instincts, buried after years of life sitting in safety. Your military training, and your prowess on the battlefield, allowed you to be closer to those primitive reflexes. Every time you step into gunfire, you are honing what humans have managed to bury for thousands of years.

"It is not lost on you that turians are apex predators who evolved into powerful, intelligent sapient beings. Your turian has always struggled with his identity as 'good'. His culture demands he be rigid and militaristic, acting out orders without question. However, he questions. His baser instincts, while closer to the surface of his conscious and culture than humans, are the same. The dance of battle, along with the experiences you have been through, has merged your souls together as one. Nobody can walk through fire unburned. Nobody can experience what you two have together, and not better from it. You finding him on Omega was either a very, very good coincidence or a divine intervention. I am not sure what religion you practice, but in my mind, some deity knows the importance of having the two of you alive and together."

Shepard's breath had become lighter, shallower. The justicar was confirming what every cell in the commander's body has been screaming since laying eyes on Archangel back in Omega.

"Commander," Samara continued, fixing Shepard with a piercing gaze. "If we win this war, there is a good chance that you and Garrus can be the keystone to finally smoothing human and turian relations. He is higher in the succession of hierarchy than he likes to talk about. And you, Commander Shepard, first human Spectre and savior of the galaxy…bond mate to the future Primarch of Palaven."

Shepard had never considered the…after. After the Collectors, after the Reapers. The possibility that, after the dust had settled, she could potentially have a chance for a normal life.

"I don't really see Garrus open to being Primarch," Shepard said with a smile. "He's not one for politics and red tape."

Samara returned her smile, and gestured to the window. "Regardless of what path he chooses, I know that he can trust you to be there with him. And I think to him, that is enough. If the hierarchy calls, he will answer, whether it be willingly or apprehensively."

Shepard quietly considered her words, for the first time feeling the warm tendrils of hope filling her chest. She and Garrus had come together in the tense, dark abyss of Omega, picking up right where they had left off two years prior to the Normandy's destruction. But since her death and resurrection, Shepard knew there was something more. She had embraced her death, albeit unwillingly, and stepped past the veil and returned with the help of the very people she still in her heart considered to be the enemy. And as the jagged, violent and chaotic edges of her life began to pull themselves back together, Garrus had quietly and seamlessly become the glue. Each time she suited up, each time she exited the shuttle and looked death in the face, she was less afraid knowing that Archangel was watching her six. He was no longer the roguish young C-Sec agent looking for a cause. In the two years she had been dead and gone, he had grown into something darker and more deadly, and it made her love him more.

"In my travels," Samara continued gently, "I have seen Asari and turian bond mates. Asari as a race are very open about cross species relationships; it is how we continue to grow genetically. Our ability to meld with our partners may bridge the gap more easily, but you and Garrus do not need to see in each other's minds to know that you are each other, that you are one in the same. Long ago humans lost touch of the fact that they are, indeed, animals. That power has manifested itself in you. Your instincts, your capabilities, your danger is what drew him to you, and you make him better by guiding him, and allowing him to choose his own path. You cannot have light without dark. You cannot have black without white."

The conversation had take a dramatic turn, but Samara's earnest expression was proof enough that these were words Shepard needed to hear. Working for a pro-human terrorist group had gone against everything Shepard felt was right. But, her decision had been made with the idea that Cerberus was willing to provide what she needed to find and defeat the Collectors. There was no black and white here.

"Thank you, Samara," Shepard said quietly. "It's not easy, to have everyone telling you what to do and then judging you at every turn. And I seem to have a habit of finding trouble that just asks for criticism."

Samara laughed lightly. "Yes, well. No one will argue with that judgement, Commander."


	9. Chapter IX

**A/N**: Yay! Another chapter! Sorry it's taken me a while to update; I got sucked into the sequel to this piece, and I was having so much fun writing for that I found it difficult to stop. This story should be wrapping up in three or four more chapters, and then we will be moving on!

Also, I've been reading a bit of Shoker fic, and I have to say I find myself smitten with that witty helmsman. I tried to write a bit more of him into this chapter as homage to the fantastic stories I've read so far.

Bioware owns the characters.

* * *

In the aftermath of finding Jacob's father alive and well among the downed wreckage of the Hugo Gernsback, topped with Sarama's conversation, Shepard found that the Normandy was becoming too small to hold the multitude of thoughts rattling around in her head. So with gusto, she had announced a 48-hour shore leave as they docked at Nos Astra. It would take about that long for the hired crew to install the new Thanix cannons, and Shepard needed some downtime off the ship in order to get her head on straight.

Kasumi had practically squealed with glee when the words "drinks at the bar" had been tossed around during breakfast. Shepard had even grudgingly agreed to play dress up, which, not surprisingly, the little thief had been well prepared for.

Up in her quarters, hair still dripping from her shower, Shepard surveyed the outfit Kasumi had laid out for her. Certainly knee-high black leather boots weren't practical? At least they didn't have a heel, she thought. The tight black pants came next. Apparently Kasumi was really good at finding the correct clothing size, which included a soft grey tee with a ridiculously low neckline, and a black leather jacket that was buttery soft as Shepard shrugged it on. She had allowed herself to dig out her nicer undergarments for the occasion; the silver lace of her bra peeked out over the top of her tee and she found she actually didn't mind. Her hair she allowed to air dry as she applied her makeup, smiling as she dipped a brush in her eyeliner. The little pot of cosmetic brought back very fond memories. Her omni-tool pinged, alerting her to a message.

[KG: Everyone is ready. Thane and Samara refusing to go with, and Grunt took off hours ago.]

[LS: I'm almost ready. Here's to hoping Grunt doesn't break anything. Illium is expensive.]

[KG: Fingers crossed. Tell your pilot to get off his ass and stop obsessing over a ship. He was muttering something about 'strangers getting handsy with his baby' when I was up on the bridge.]

[LS: Great. Leave the cranky helmsman to me. I'll meet you all there.]

Shepard heaved a sigh and closed her omni-tool, picking up where she left off on her eyeliner. The ship was starting to feel like a very dysfunctional family in serious need of counseling.

Makeup done, she took a brief minute to assess her handiwork in the mirror, fluffing her hair as she stepped out of her quarters. The leather boots were quieter than her mag boots were on the metal floor of the ship, and she took a minute to practice padding silently to the elevator. She really hoped nobody was watching the vid feed of her dodging imaginary enemies as she softly tapped the button to summon the elevator to the loft.

"Hey, Commander," Joker said as she walked up to the bridge. Per the usual, the helmsman didn't even bother swiveling his chair to greet her, his eyes never leaving the console in front of him. Shepard noticed he had managed to hack several security cameras on the dock in order to survey the installation crew's ministrations.

"Joker," Shepard said lightly, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Please. Let me buy you a drink. The Normandy will be fine for a few hours."

"Hands all over my baby," he muttered, zooming in on a worker who was removing several plates from the gullet of the ship. He thumbed a comm button. "Don't think I don't see you feeling her up! You better put those plates back where you found them!" The worker lifted his head in confusion, searching for the source of the voice.

"Joker," Shepard's voice lowered an octave. The pilot slumped in his chair.

"Fine," he said, adjusting his cap and spinning to face her. Slowly, his face lost his angry scowl and was replaced with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. The look was priceless as he assessed his commander; Shepard would have to have Tali pull it from the bridge camera later. His mouth opened and closed several times before he actually remembered how to form words. "Uh, I'm just…going to change. Yeah. Civvies."

She waggled her fingers at him in the direction of the elevator.

"Go change. That's an order."

Joker pushed himself out of his chair and snapped the first crisp salute Shepard had seen him do since her death. "Aye, aye, Commander." Face slightly flushed, he walked away as quickly as he could manage.

Shepard shook her head and sighed, smiling. Apparently Kasumi's outfit was a knockout.

* * *

The bar was dark, the only light coming from the stage where asari in various forms of undress undulated around glittering metal poles. Shades of violet laser lights threw shadows across the floor. He found her sitting at the bar, hair in lose waves down her back, clutching a bottle of some levo beer. He knew she couldn't see him watching her from the shadows, and he savored it, studying her in a moment of relaxation. Her civilian clothes looked strange to him, after seeing her in nothing but armor and uniform. It added a tinge of excitement to his guilty observations, enjoying the newness of her appearance. Even from across the room he could smell her, spice and warmth, enveloped in a dark leather jacket. She adjusted herself on the bar stool, pivoting so she could stretch her long legs out in front of her. Black pants stuffed into black knee length boots were the only clue that it was Shepard. Rarely was she in any other color.

Garrus leaned against the wall, musing. This rare shore leave had sparked a buzz of hushed excitement throughout the ship. Jacob had mentioned something about "getting rowdy" and "spilling drinks", Jack vehemently offered to buy Mordin a few dances from an asari. The only one who didn't seem as excited was Joker, who had mumbled something to Garrus about not trusting the "ship cancer" to watch over his baby. He knew Shepard had been trying to bribe him to relinquish his unhealthy obsession with his leather chair and be social as most of the crew departed the ship into the Nos Astra evening.

He watched Shepard order another beer, and decided to stop being antisocial himself. Sauntering up to the stool next to her, he leaned an elbow on the bar, a cocky grin on his face.

She had seen him out of the corner of her eye, of course. He knew it would be nearly impossible to actually surprise someone who was so incredibly aware of her surroundings. She didn't turn her head towards him, but instead took another sip of her beer and smiled.

"So. A turian on shore leave?" she set her drink down on the bar and nodded at the bartender to get Garrus a beer. "You come here often?"

Thanking the bartender for his drink, he took a sip and sat down on the stool next to her, stretching his legs out.

"Mmm, yes," he purred in what he hoped was an impression of an alluring voice. "Good place to blow off steam." She raised her eyebrows, and he counted it as a victory. "The scenery isn't bad, either." He took another sip of beer.

Finding it hard to keep a straight face, she laughed and leaned back, lacing her hands behind her head. The violet light burnished her face and hair, making her look dark and dangerous. She had applied makeup, black smudges on her eyelids, and as she studied him through her lashes he thanked the spirits for the creature in front of him, alive and in one piece.

"Was I right to have shore leave?" she asked him, peeling the label from her beer bottle. "I feel like we've been running a marathon without a finish line in sight, and I just want to crew to be happy."

"Ask me in an hour when we find the rest of our shipmates, and I'll let you know," he mused, images of a very intoxicated Mordin and a flexible asari dancer flashing in his mind. He tapped the bar for another beer.

"Don't forget, you need to have fun too, Shepard."

She shook her head and smiled, and he didn't know if it was the deep thrum of the music, the beer or the lights, but he began to appreciate how beautiful she was.

"Haven't you heard, Vakarian?" she said, and he noticed the husky tone in her voice as she leaned towards him. "Commander fucking Shepard is the epitome of fun." Heat unfurled in his chest, and he fought the urge to grab her, throw her up against the bar and claim her. Breaking eye contact, she ordered another beer and stood up, making her way to the dance floor.

"Last time I checked, Shepard, you still couldn't dance." She's had a few too many, he mused, and she coyly looked over her shoulder at him, squeezing herself between an asari and a salarian gyrating to the club music. Taking a sip of beer, she started to dance, and his mandibles fluttered in disbelief. This was not the woman who looked like a drunk hanar flailing helplessly to the beat. This was a creature he had never seen before, taking the form of his commander. Her movements were graceful and lithe, and she turned to lock eyes with him from across the room. A rumble started low in his chest, and he watched her fluidity, suppressing the need to press himself against her. Instead, he sipped his beer and settled back against the bar, enjoying the show.

"Hey Garrus," Tali sidled up next to him, lights dancing off her face mask. He nodded to acknowledge her, not taking his eyes off of Shepard.

"I think Mordin and Jack are somewhere around here. And Jacob." The bartender handed her some violent yellow drink in a glass vial, and she crossed her legs, looking out at the mass of dancers. "Is that…is that Shepard?" she sputtered incredulously, leaning forwarding, catching sight of the commander dancing with her beer raised above her head.

Garrus smiled. "I'm still trying to figure that out."

"How much has she had to drink?" Tali clicked the vial into a port on the arm of her suit, filtering it for her consumption.

"Enough to not look like a volus stuck on its back."

"Shh, she's coming back." Tali straightened up, embarrassed, and fiddled with something on her suit.

Shepard slinked back up to the bar, thumping her empty bottle down. "Vakarian," her words were starting to slur as she addressed him. "Make yourself useful and order me another beer." She leaned her swaying frame against him, radiating warmth.

"You heard the lady," he said to the bartender. "Another round." More bottles were procured, and Shepard wasted no time in taking a swing from hers.

"Garrus, come dance," she begged, leaning her head against his arm. He stifled a laugh and glanced at Tali. Her back was ramrod straight, and he could see her fighting not to giggle.

"Commander, turians are not good dancers…"

"Don't care!" she grabbed his hand and pulled him out of his stool with surprising strength. Dragging him across the dance floor, she stopped to take another sip of her beer and appraised him through her lashes. Letting go of his hand, she grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked down until he was eye level with her. "Loosen up, Archangel." The purr in her voice was suggestive, and he answered with a low growl.

"Fine," he said, straightening up. "But don't cry when my superior dance skills bring all the ladies running." She giggled, and they started to dance to the thumping music.

Navigating a dance floor among drunk patrons was a lot like navigating a battlefield littered with land mines. One wrong move, and a sticky pink drink was spilled everywhere. Garrus kept enough distance from Shepard so that her signature "beer bottle in the air" move didn't catch him in the chin. He was still gawking in awe of her newfound dancing skills when a figure sidled up behind her. Pale skin, blonde. Civilian tunic and pants, reeking of money. The man's brown eyes watched her greedily, and he snaked a hand around her waist. Shepard stopped dancing and turned her head, eyebrows knitted together in annoyance.

"Hey, sweetheart," Garrus heard him purr. Shepard twisted in his grip, an dark look on her face. Suddenly, the turian was concerned for the man's safety.

"Do you make it a habit to accost random women on the dance floor?" he heard her ask quietly. The man must not have heard her over the music, and leaned his head closer to her face. Garrus took a step back, well aware of what Shepard was about to do.

"Just the beautiful ones," came the man's smooth reply. Shepard, with surprising coherence for someone as intoxicated as she was, snaked her arms up around the man's neck. Thinking he had made a score, he lowered his body to move closer to her, giving her the leverage she needed. With inhuman strength, she bent her knees and vaulted the man over her shoulder, throwing him onto his back with a heavy thump, all without spilling her beer.

"What…the…fuck…" he gasped as people around them stopped dancing to stare at the spectacle. Shepard knelt close to his face, and he flung his hands up in defense.

"Don't ever pull that shit again," she growled darkly. "Not with me, not with anyone. Got it?" the man nodded violently, struggling to his feet. "Now get out of here."

He complied, disappearing into the crowd.

Garrus was trying his hardest not to laugh at what had just transpired. Shepard met his eyes and gave him a sheepish look.

"Do you want another drink?" he asked, shaking his head and grinning.

"No! I want to keep dancing with you." She handed her empty beer bottle to a passing waitress, and turned back to him, eyes locking on his face. Her look has changed to something darker, and he wasn't sure if it was the beer or the adrenaline from watching her take out the man, but her scent was like a drug, and his head became cloudy.

Slowly, she closed the space between them and pressed her body against his, moving her hips in a way that would make an asari dancer blush. He growled appreciatively, and pulled her closer.

"You know, Archangel," her mouth caressed the name. "I've seen you in action. But I haven't seen you in action." And it's not a taunt. It's a challenge.

"Oh, I'm not sure about that." He leaned down so his mandible fluttered against her ear. "As I recall, I'm always pulling your ass out of the line of fire." He cupped her rear with a hand and squeezed, making her gasp.

"You're too busy enjoying the view to be useful." She reached up and clasped her hands behind his neck, melting into his frame, fitting her body to his.

"Shepard…" he growled, studying her face. "You're a little intoxicated, and while Archangel may be a badass vigilante, he is not one for taking advantage of his drunk commander. You are considerably testing my patience on the matter." His hand moved from her rear to her waist, and she sighed.

"Will you still dance with me?" she cocked her head and gave him a small smile, and he melted.

"Yes, but only if you teach me to do that hip thing." He said with a wink.

Jacob, Jack and a very satisfied looking Mordin joined Tali and the bar, surveying the crowd.

"I bought Professor here five lap dances," Jack announced over the music, slamming a shot of something green and poisonous-looking. "Thought maybe if he loosened up, he would talk slower and we'd actually be able to fucking understand him."

"Great chance to study asari physiology up close," Mordin said. "Took notes. Will write report. You have my thanks."

"Seriously dude?" Jack asked, looking at him incredulously. Her eyes scanned over the dancers, and her mouth popped open. "Is that Shepard? And Garrus?"

"Apparently, after about five beers, she can actually dance." Tali hiccuped, nursing a second drink. "She's been attracting a lot of attention. I saw her throw a man onto his back. Garrus has been pretty protective ever since."

"Classic turian behavior," Mordin said simply. "Male protects mate from other males. Establishes dominance. Instinctual, really."

"Mate?" It was Jacob's turn to stare at the salarian professor, dumbfounded.

"Oh yes," Mordin continued, staring at the pair on the dance floor. "Officer Vakarian's pheromone levels elevated for weeks now. Stress of mission causing tension. On turian ship, sparring and copulation most common way to relieve stress. However, body language suggests possessiveness. May be more than…just stress relief."

"You're fucking with me, right Professor?" Jack surfaced from taking another shot, shaking her head. "Wait. Do turians even have…dicks?" Tali fumbled with the glass vial in her hand, Jacob's quick reflexes preventing it from shattering on the floor.

"Turian and human physiology quite similar. Compatible for…er…intercourse. Risk of dextro/levo allergic reaction. Antihistamines recommended."

"Shit. You learn something new every day."

"Shhhh Jack, they're coming over here!" Tali squeaked, covering her masked face with her hands.

Shepard sauntered over to her shipmates, Garrus tagging behind her with a bemused look on his face.

"Damn Shep, don't hurt 'em," Jack whistled, appraising her outfit, and offered up a beer to the commander. Taking it, Shepard smiled.

"Oh ya know," she said between sips. "It can't always be armor and uniforms."

Kasumi shimmered into view next to Jacob, causing Tali to yelp in surprise.

"Now Shep," she chided, grabbing a fruity pink drink from the bartender, who looked thoroughly surprised at the sudden appearance of his new patron. "Don't forget who dresses you."

"Ah yes!" Shepard exclaimed, teetering precariously to throw an arm over Kasumi's shoulder. "I am your most favorite victim." In a very un-Shepard-like move, she planted a kiss on the thief's partially hooded cheek.

"Now now, ladies," came a chiding voice. Joker slunk up to the bar, in jeans and a t-shirt no less. "If you're going to be getting friendly," he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively under the brim of his hat. "I want vid. And pictures."

"Joker!" Shepard shouted, throwing both hands in the air and turning to face the helmsman. "I forgot what you looked like without the pilot chair!" She gathered him into a tight hug, knocking his cap askew, and the man looked as if he couldn't decide if it was the best or worst day ever. Shepard released him, patting his cheek lightly, and leaned over the bar. "Hey!" she shouted at the bartender. "Get my pilot a beer! He's earned it!"

Joker looked thoroughly embarrassed as he sank lower in on his bar stool, tugging the brim of his hat lower to cover his eyes. Shepard passed him a beer and skipped her way back to Garrus' side, twining her fingers into the fabric of the back of his jacket.

"You're in a good mood," he groused, using her shoulder as an armrest for his drinking hand.

"When Cerberus upgraded me," she said, "they did something to my liver. It's super awesome at processing toxins. Sooo I have to drink a lot really fast in order to feel anything." She took a sip of beer to prove her point. "In about 15 minutes I'll be mostly sober again."

"That's both good and bad, I guess."

"Hmmm," she mused, turning back to Jack at her side. "Dance with me?"

Jack appraised her with raised eyebrows, gaze flitting from the commander to Garrus and back.

"Yeah, why the fuck not. Kasumi! Tali!"

The four females linked arms and stumbled their way out onto the dance floor, leaving a very confused looking group of men.

"Seriously though," Joker quipped, spinning in his stool to stare at the dance floor. "Does anyone have a camera?"

* * *

The walk back to the Normandy was long and filled with the happy, inebriated voices of her crew. Kasumi and Shepard were holding hands and giggling, even though Shepard had long since lost her alcohol-induced buzz and was working towards a hangover. Joker was being supported by Jacob, who had come up on the losing end of a drinking contest with Jack. The pilot, usually unsteady on his feet due to his Vrolicks, was especially wobbly. Tali and Garrus hung back a few paces from the group, talking quietly.

The bright lights of the city glittered as they crossed a pedestrian bridge towards the docks, a light wind blowing around them. Shepard felt oddly at peace, enjoying the cool breeze and happy atmosphere that surrounded her fellow crew. On the dance floor, Jack had made several hints about the nature of her and Garrus' relationship, which Shepard had neither confirmed nor denied. She hadn't decided how to handle that situation yet. Her and Garrus had always worked closely, both on and off the battlefield. Their seamless partnership had always been very natural. Vaguely, she could hear his deep flanging voice somewhere behind her, deep in conversation with the quarian, and she smiled, warmth spreading through her chest. She was marveling at her luck when a small canister dropped from somewhere above them with a clang. Shepard flung her arm out, stopping the groups progression. The metal cylinder was beeping softly.

Oh fuck.

"Everybody get back!" she yelled, shoving Kasumi backwards into Jacob and Joker. The flash bang went off as she shut her eyes against it, hand flying to the holster strapped across her chest. Fingers gripped cold metal pistol, and as the blinding light cleared, she looked for the assailant. Her ears were ringing and her arm protested where she had landed on it, but she stepped to her left and right, searching.

"Shepard!" Tali yelled. Shepard spun. "Up there!" The quarian was pointing to an apartment building above the pedestrian bridge, and Shepard caught a glimpse of a fleeting figured shadowed in the 10th story window. Cursing under her breath, she memorized the windows up and over where the figure had appeared, as well as the name of the building.

Next to her, Jacob and Joker were sprawled on the ground, the pilot looking dazed. Shepard knelt down next to him, prodding his chest and torso gently.

"Joker, are you ok?"

He groaned as her fingers ghosted over his right side. "Ribs," he gasped, fumbling for his cap, which had been knocked aside as he fell. "Man, Shepard. You sure know how to party."

Shepard shook her head. "Jacob, can you get Joker back to the Normandy? Have Chakwas take a look. I think at least two ribs are broken." Jacob nodded sharply, leaning to help Joker gingerly to his feet. Shepard had the distinct feeling Joker would be feeling that in the morning. She leaned her weight on her hands, pistol still in hand, and bit her lip. Everything had been going so well. Luckily it was only a flash bang, she mused, pushing herself off the ground.

She stood up to assess the rest of her team, just in time to watch Garrus collapse, his hand on his neck.


	10. Chapter X

She was at his side in a flash, kneeling next to his prone form. He was breathing, sharp, ragged breaths that whistled in through his teeth. The collar of his jacket was flipped up and disheveled. She lifted his hand from his neck and grit her teeth until her jaw ached. With a soft growl, she pulled the dart from his neck where it had pinned his jacket collar to the soft skin.

"Mordin," she said, handing it to the salarian. He immediately began scanning the dart with his omnitool, muttering to himself so quickly Shepard couldn't make out words. "Jacob, I need you to help me get him to the ship. Jack, help Joker." She fought to control her breathing as red flickered in front of her eyes. "Tali, Kasumi, I need you to see if you can hack any security cameras out here and in the building above us. Send the feeds to the Normandy."

Jacob was quick to comply, heaving the turian to his feet, Shepard on the opposite side supporting Garrus' weight across her shoulders. Jack, bless her, was being surprisingly gentle with Joker, who look as though he was terrified she may break every single bone in his body.

For what little luck they had been having, the Normandy was close, and they had Garrus to the medbay in record time. Chakwas was nose deep in a mug of tea as Jacob and Shepard walked though the door, but as her eyes found the turian's prone form, she snapped into efficiency mode.

"What happened?" she asked, lowering a hospital bed so Shepard and Jacob could lay him down onto it.

"Flash bang," Shepard panted, gently tilting his head to the side, making sure not to bend his fringe on the pillows. "Somebody shot him with a dart. Mordin is looking into it. I…I don't know what as in it, but he was down instantly." She shook her head and scrubbed a hand across her eyes.

Chakwas busied herself with checking his vitals as Jack, supporting a very worn-looking Joker, stumbled into the medbay, followed by Mordin. He had his omnitool open, typing violently as he made his way over to the supply closet.

"Oh Jeff," Chakwas sighed, looking up from her ministrations to shake her head at the pilot. "Jacob, you have first aid training, yes?" the soldier nodded his head. "Can you help Jeff wrap his ribs? There's a nerve block in the cooling unit. Make sure it's a 5mm needle. Don't need to add a punctured lung to this party."

Jacob complied immediately, moving to help Joker remove his shirt and apply the nerve block before wrapping the pilot's ribs.

"His vitals are good, if not a little sluggish," Chakwas said, scanning Garrus' prone form with her omnitool. Shepard absent mindedly smoothed the turian's jacket where it had bunched around his waist. He looked vulnerable laying prone on the table. I'm not going to lose you, she thought, throat aching with emotion.

A triumphant sound from Mordin made them all jump.

"As I thought," he said, hurrying over to them with a syringe in hand. "Potent poison. I have an antidote. Very simple, really. Luckily you pulled the dart out so quickly, Shepard. Only received half the intended dosage."

"His jacket collar got in the way," Shepard said, moving to let Mordin slide the needle into the crook of Garrus' elbow. "I think that helped."

"Yes, impeded injection. Specialized dart, made to fit in modified pistol. Uncommon, often used by assassins. Suggest you speak to Thane. He may have more knowledge on the subject. Now, see if you can wake him."

Mordin stepped away from the bed and Shepard took Garrus' hand in hers, five fingers intertwining with his three. She gave it a squeeze.

"Garrus," she said softly, leaning close to his face. "Garrus, you need to wake up now."

The turian twitched the hand Shepard held, and she gave it another reassuring squeeze. "Come on, Vakarian. That wasn't a suggestion. It was an order."

With a shuddering gasp, Garrus' eyes flew open, pupils dilated, almost completely consuming the bright blue irises. His free hand lashed out and closed around Shepard's neck, squeezing, talons biting into soft flesh. Chakwas yelped and Shepard could feel the flow of eezo from somewhere behind her, Jack's form swirling in blue.

"Don't!" Shepard gasped, fighting for air. "Step back." Her eyes locked on Garrus', and she squeezed his hand again. Her blood was hot where it dripped down the back of her neck. His grip on her throat was growing increasingly stronger, his ragged breathing echoing through the med bay.

"Garrus," she said as evenly as possible, voice coming out as a hushed whisper. "Garrus, it's me. Ahyoka." Taking her hand from his, she slipped it up between his scarred jaw and mandible, where the skin was always blistering hot. "You're ok. I promise."

The turian took several more ragged breaths, fingers twitching around her throat, eyes darting around the room to settle back on Shepard.

"Ahyoka," he breathed. Shepard nodded, eyes never leaving his. The grip on her throat loosened.

"Yes."

His hand dropped from her neck to his side, chest heaving, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Ignoring the worried protests from the crew behind her, Shepard cupped his face in her hands.

"There was a flash bang, and someone shot you with a dart. The poisonous kind. You're in the med bay on the Normandy."

His eyes fluttered open, and she breathed a sigh of relief as his pupils returned to their normal size. In a very uncharacteristic display of pubic affection, he reached a hand up to cradle the back of her neck, slipping under her hair, and brought her forehead to his, her loose locks creating a curtain.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, warmth radiating from his body.

"I thought we were going to save the kinky stuff for when we were back in my quarters," Shepard quipped, increasing the pressure of her forehead against his. He laughed. With one more nudge, she straightened up and turned to see several confused faces staring at her. Jacob had paused his assistance in wrapping Joker's rips, bandage hanging limply from his hands. Joker's eyes were round in surprise. Jack looked smug. Mordin was the first to break the din.

"Yes, should have warned you, Shepard. Possibility of hostility, unaware of surroundings, common side effects of this neurotoxin. Your knowledge of turian behavior is impressive." He took a deep breath through his nose. "Could have had your neck broken."

"Should have known human men weren't enough for you, Shepard," Jack quipped, slapping Shepard's rear and settling on Joker's hospital bed. The pilot looked at her warily, leaning as far away from her as his sore ribs would allow. Jacob shook his head and continued wrapping.

Shepard shook her head and leaned against Garrus' hospital bed. "Well, this is the Normandy. It isn't shore leave unless someone gets shot."

Chakwas made a discontented noise in her throat and sat down at her desk with a huff.

"Mordin," Shepard said, turning to the salarian. "How common is that poison? Is it possible to trace it to a manufacturer?"

Mordin tapped a finger to his cheek, thinking. "Could be possible, but doubtful. Poison made from uncommon ingredients. Would take time."

"I am not a patient person when it comes to revenge," Shepard growled, turning to look down at Garrus. He had pushed himself into a seated position and was resting his side gently against Shepard. He winked, a very human expression he had picked up from Joker, no doubt.

"I am a little flattered that someone wants me dead," Garrus said, shaking his head. "I was starting to miss the attention."

"Does someone want you dead, or Archangel?" she replied.

"It's a possibility, though not a lot of people ever saw me without my helmet, except for my team. And Sidonis wouldn't dare show his bare face back on Omega."

Shepard crossed her arms and leaned into one hip, enjoying the heat radiating off of Garrus through her clothes. His motor ran a little bit hotter than hers, but she was always cold. It worked quite well.

"Well, whoever it was," Jack said, spreading her legs and resting her elbows on her thighs. "I'm betting Shep is ready to fuck their day up. I'm in."

"You can count us in," came Kasumi's voice from the door. Tali followed closely behind her.

"I managed to hack into the apartment building's security cams," the quarian said, bringing up grainy footage on her omnitool. "It's not much, but I forwarded it to Liara. She's going to see if she can cross reference it with any occupants, considering the shooter was in a room."

The vid was dark and difficult to make out, the angle showing a long hallway lined with doors. A figure flitted into frame, opening a door and disappearing, only to reemerge fifteen minutes later.

"Drell," came a gravely voice. Thane had somehow padded his way into the now crowded medbay without notice. "Unknown to me, but there's no mistaking the way he moves."

"Uh, is someone going to point out why the hell we are running into another drell assassin is on Illium?" quipped Joker, who had replaced his cap on his head and was looking thoroughly amused to be part of the discussion. "I mean, I know Shepard likes to bring home strays, but I thought one of each species was enough."

"Joker," Shepard said, smiling. "I plan on killing the assassin, not offering him room and board."

The pilot shook his head and sighed. "How can you smile at the prospect of going up against a trained killer? Oh…wait. That's how you get your jollies."

Garrus snorted.

"Well," Kasumi said, hovering next to Thane. "In all honesty, I was going for sort of a 'bad ass vigilante' look, Shep. Hence all the black?" She motioned to Shepard's outfit. "Might as well put it to good use?"

Shepard grinned, reaching into the top of her shirt to pull out a thin switchblade knife. Garrus started at her incredulously, and Jack let out a low whistle of appreciation.

"What?" she asked him. "You really expected me to be able to fit a gun in these pants? Come on. Let's go see if we can track down an assassin. Comm room in ten." She turned to help Garrus to his feet, and the group exited the med bay, leaving a very shell-shocked Joker, Jacob and Jack.

"Damn," Jack exclaimed, running her hands up the inside of her thighs. "If that didn't make you hard, flyboy, I'm doubting your sexuality."

Joker cleared his throat nervously and looked to Jacob, who shook his head in surrender.

* * *

"His name is Lito Baros," Liara said, her voice filling the comm room. "He arrived on Illium the same day the Normandy docked, and has been staying well hidden. However, not well enough." Shepard could hear the smile in Liara's voice over the tightband connection.

"Any idea who he's working for?" Shepard asked, leaning casually against the comm room table. Beside her, Garrus was absent-mindedly playing with her switchblade knife, testing the sharpness against one of his talons. The sight of it in his hands sent chills down Shepard's spine. The good kind of chills.

"That's taking a little bit more time for me to track down. Although, I don't doubt your interrogation abilities, Shepard."

"Where can we find him?"

"Well, my sources say he is currently staying in a different hotel every night, but I have someone tracking him as we speak."

"Oh Liara," Shepard said throatily. "I love you. Did you know that?"

Liara laughed. "I will send the info to your omnitool. Good luck."

"I owe you," Shepard replied, and closed the connection. She turned to face the team that had assembled in the room with her. Samara was now privy to what had transpired several hours before, and Grunt had been located, relatively sober.

"So, we have a trained assassin who is known to be carrying a modified pistol filled with poison darts. Thane, I'm going to need you with me. You're the expert on what we're going to expect."

The drell nodded, dark eyes blinking slowly has he studied the commander.

"It should not be difficult," he said. "His actions so far have been mediocre. He allowed his presence to be known on Nos Astra, and he did not take out the security cams. I believe he is inexperienced, or overconfident."

"Or both," Samara supplied. The matriarch was standing next to Thane, hands clasped behind her back.

"I agree," Shepard said, nodding at both of them. "I want this to be completely covert. Although Illium is just as bad as Omega, they have laws, and only I as a Spectre am immune. Kasumi, between your tactical cloak and mine, we should have no issues. I want the rest of you to stay back here, for now." Shepard motioned to the quarian. "I'm going to have Tali hack the security cams as we go-"

"Uh, Commander," came Joker's voice over the comm. "You're forgetting that I'm an expert at these sort of things."

Shepard smiled. "Ok Joker, you can play too."

"My wildest dreams have come true."

"Tali and Joker will hack the security cameras as we go. The rest of you who are staying back, I'll need you on stand-by. I don't know who has employed this assassin, and if his employer is on Illium or not, but I'd rather be prepared for any scenario."

A series of nods from the group spelled out their agreement.

"Ok, Thane, Kasumi, meet me at the airlock in five. The rest of you, dismissed."

They filed out of the room, leaving Shepard and Garrus behind. He turned to stare at her, head cocked.

"I'm going with you, Shepard," he said, flicking her knife open and closed. She grabbed it from him, stashing it back under the band of her bra.

"No," she said, placing her hands on his chest, fingers curling along the edge of his lapels. "You're going to stay here, and sit, and relax, as Chakwas ordered you to do."

"Can't do that."

"You do remember you were just poisoned, correct?"

"Hmm…is that what happened?" he quipped, giving her a wink.

Shepard rested her head against his chest, reveling in the feeling of his proximity. She wouldn't let him see it, but the image of him collapsing on that bridge was burned into the back of her eyelids. She saw his form crumple every time she blinked. But he was turian, and amazingly skilled at everything he did. She could try to protect him, and try her hardest, but he wouldn't allow her to do it, and she, in the end, couldn't force it on him.

"If you feel up to it, then yes. I guess I could use you."

"How could you ask me to stay behind when you're hiding a knife in your shirt?" he tried to look hurt, but she could tell he was giving her the turian equivalent of a shit-eating grin. "That's hot, Shepard."

"All yours," she replied, and tugged him out of the comm room.

* * *

Joker hadn't been lying when he said he was an expert at hacking security cameras. Shepard leaned against his chair, marveling at a dozen different vid feeds he had brought up on the console in front of him. Tali was curled up in the co-pilot's seat, fiddling with something on her omnitool.

"When did you get so good at this?" Shepard asked.

"How do you think I know what goes on when you guys are planetside and I'm up here twiddling my thumbs?" he half-turned in his chair to give her a snarky grin from under the brim of his hat. "Plus I have EDI's help, I guess," he added, grudgingly.

"I assist Mr. Moreau much more than he is implying, Commander," replied EDI's holo, blinking into view. Was it possible for an AI to sound smug?

"Yeah yeah," he said under his breath, thumbing the mute button. "But we will be able to actively hack security cam feeds as you go."

"And I'll make sure I stay a couple cams ahead of you," Tali said from the co-pilot's chair, turning her masked faced towards Shepard. "That way I can alert you if something comes up."

"Thank you, Tali," Shepard said, giving the quarian a soft squeeze on her shoulder.

Thane, Kasumi and Garrus padded onto the bridge, buzzing with excitement. Shepard hadn't bothered to change; opting instead to detach her tactical cloak and kinetic shields from her armor and clipping them to the belt of her pants. She had allowed herself to borrow two gun holsters from the thief; her pistols were now safely ensconced in leather at her hips. Even without turning, she could feel Garrus' gaze on her, and her spine tingled. She turned her head to catch his shape out of the corner of her eye. The turian had donned his trademark armor, looking very much at ease, weight sunk into one hip and arms crossed against his chest.

"What's the plan, Shep?" Kasumi asked, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. Shepard turned to face her crew, admiring each individual, mentally assessing their strengths and weaknesses as she formulated a strategy.

"Liara has sent me the tracking program, which is currently locked onto our target. There are four of us, and one of him, so I think our best guarantee is to shepherd him into a corner." The corners of her mouth lifted slightly at her pun.

"That is a very strong plan," Thane said. "If we can get him somewhere that he cannot escape, he may panic, and make a mistake."

Shepard nodded her agreement, running a thumb along the metal of her right pistol. "And once we have him cornered, hopefully he will be willing to cooperate. If not, well…" she shrugged her shoulders. "Garrus, I am sending the tracking program to you. With your visor, it'll leave our hands free and you can direct us in the right directions."

"Understood," he replied, tapping the side of his visor.

"Kasumi, you and I will make good use of these expertly modded cloaks you have so graciously provided. We'll let Thane and Garrus direct the target, and we'll be scouting ahead, giving you directions on where to herd him to. We'll be waiting there, ready to trap him."

"According to the tracker, he's holed up in Eternity," Garrus said. "That must be where he feels most comfortable, surrounded by people. Rookie mistake, in my opinion. Drell are not common in general, especially not on an asari world."

Thane nodded his agreement. "He is allowing too many people to see him, an action which tells me he is not professionally trained. An assassin should be quieter than the shadows that hide him."

"What are we waiting for?" Kasumi exclaimed gleefully. "Let's go!"

* * *

Shepard could feel the music before they heard it. The volume emanating from the bar was one of the reasons they had avoided it earlier in the evening and opted for a smaller watering hole. Their target, however, seemed to be enjoying the sights and sounds of Eternity. Shepard and Kasumi had gone in ahead of Thane and Garrus, flitting to the edges of the cavernous room and setting up post within eyeshot of the bar.

"Let him see you, Garrus," Shepard murmured into the mic on the collar of her jacket. Kasumi and her were leaning up against a wall, ensconced in shadows, watching the dark forms of their teammates make their way to the bar. "If he's here, it means he believes he was successful and that you're dead. So, pull a Shepard."

His flanging laugh filled her earpiece. "I've always wondered what it felt like to do that."

The assassin was tucked into a corner, gaze resting on the undulating form of an asari dancing on the bar above him.

"Either he's dumb," Kasumi said into her mic, opting to not shout over the music. "Or he's really, really bad at his job." Shepard nodded in agreement. She wasn't familiar with drell as a whole, but their target looked younger, much like Kolyat had. Even sitting on a bar stool, Shepard could tell he lacked the defined grace and sureness of movement Thane possessed.

Garrus had approached the bar, coming up behind the drell. It was an ode to his cool confidence as he settled in a stool next to their target, leaning forward to order a drink from the bartender, looking completely at ease. Thane had managed to sneak around to the opposite side of the bar, directly across from Garrus. Their target had not moved, still entranced by the dancer.

"Tip her, Garrus," Shepard said into her mic.

"I'm not made of money," came his throaty reply. He had his head turned away from the target, and he sounded amused.

"I'll pay you back."

"Somehow I feel like we're not talking about credits here."

"That's up to you, Vakarian."

She saw his omnitool light up as he transferred credits to the dancer, much to the asari's pleasure. She slowly lowered herself down to sit on the bar, long blue legs on either side of Garrus, hands ghosting up and down his arms. The shift of the dancer had broken the drell's trance, and he turned to see who had caused the asari to leave her post on top of the bar. His eyes settled on the turian, and he froze. Garrus, the cheeky bastard, turned his head, scarred side facing he assassin, and gave him a smile from over the dancer's leg, which had made its way onto his shoulder.

"Sorry, am I interrupting?" Shepard heard Garrus' quip in her earpiece, and Kasumi giggled next to her. The assassin stood abruptly, causing his bar stool to tip backwards with a crash.

"Keep on him, Thane," Shepard said into her mic, watching as the younger drell pushed his way through a crowd of dancers, heading straight towards them. With a sideways glance, Shepard and Kasumi both activated their tactical cloaks at the same time, slipping through the partially open door to their right and into the dark hallway. Kasumi had managed to secure blueprints of the bar and various hallways that wound around the building. As they ran ahead, Shepard held up her omni tool and locked any doors the lead off to other rooms, forcing their target to follow behind them. The long corridor lead into an office, which luckily had been vacated several hours prior. Kasumi hacked the door open and the two women dashed inside.

A large desk sat in front of a window, framing an impressive view of the Nos Astra skyline. The office was on the small side, filled with various cabinets. A modern-looking couch was shoved up against a wall.

"He's coming towards you," came Garrus' voice in Shepard's earpiece. Kasumi had tucked herself up against the edge of the door, ready to lock it.

Shepard settled herself on the edge of the desk, still cloaked. She could hear the panicked footsteps as their target sprinted down the hallway. The younger drell fell through the doorway, stumbling, dark eyes searching for an escape. Garrus and Thane filed into the room behind him more calmly, and Kasumi locked the door closed behind them. The assassin turned to face his pursuers.

"You're supposed to be dead," he spat, hands clenching into fists at his side.

Garrus cooly assessed the younger drell, sinking his weight onto one hip and crossing his arms. "Do you ever tire of hearing that, Shepard? It's not as exciting as I thought."

Shepard shimmered into view behind the target, causing him to spin in surprise.

"Why don't you take a seat," Shepard said cooly, gesturing to the couch with her knife. The drell's mouth popped open.

"I think I'm good," he replied, arms snaking across his chest defensively.

"Oh, I wasn't talking to you," Shepard said, nodding towards the figures standing behind him. Garrus settled lightly on the couch, crossing his legs, leaving Thane to block the doorway. The younger drell seemed to panic at the sight of one more assailant as Kasumi shimmered into view next to Garrus, legs tucked under her. She waggled her fingers playfully.

"Now, Lito." Shepard's voice was deadly quiet. "Who hired you?"

The drell shook his head, fixing her with a dark stare.

Shepard uncrossed her legs and sighed. "There are a few ways to do this, Lito. We can do it the easy way, where you tell me who hired you and we let you go on your merry way. Or, we can do it the hard way, where I remove a scale for every single lie you tell me." She ran her thumb along the edge of her knife blade, drawing a bead of blood. Silently, Thane moved closer to the younger drell, and Shepard nodded. Lightning quick, Lito was incapacitated, arms trapped behind his back by the much stronger Thane. Shepard hopped off the desk and sauntered forward, stopping inches in front of her target.

"I'm going to ask you again," she said. "Who hired you to kill the turian?"

Lito's eyes widened at the proximity of the woman, and his lips parted, panting in fear.

"If I tell you, you'll let me go?" he said, an edge of panic tipping into his voice.

"Well, that depends on if you are truthful or not," Shepard replied.

"I don't know the name of my employer," Lito responded, too quickly. In the blink of an eye, Shepard had the edge of her knife placed against his throat, tucked just underneath a scale.

"Do not lie to me, Mr. Baros."

The drell whimpered.

"I would tell the truth, Lito," Garrus said from the couch. He looked incredibly amused, hands tucked under his fringe, long legs stretched out in front of him. "You don't want to make her angry."

Shepard's lips quirked into a small, dark smile, and she increased the pressure of the knife on Lito's throat.

"Slaver," the drell gasped. "He wanted revenge for his brother."

Shepard lessened the pressure of her blade, and Lito huffed out a small, relieved sigh.

"I need a name."

"Karn Harga," Lito said, eyes searching the commander.

"Where can I find this Karn Harga?"

"All I know is that he has an outpost somewhere on Omega," Lito explained, shrugging his shoulders as much as Thane's grip allowed. "He had a contact hire me, said I needed to kill a turian named Archangel." The drell's eyes swiveled to Garrus. "Said Archangel killed his brother."

"This Karn Harga," Shepard asked, taking a step back and flicking her knife closed. "Is he batarian?"

"Yes."

Shepard fought the sudden heat that uncurled in her chest, and she turned away from Lito, tucking the knife back into her shirt.

"Let him go, Thane."

The older drell complied, and Litos rolled his shoulders, looking contrite. Shepard turned back to them, voice calm.

"I'm going to let you go, Lito. But if you contact Karn Harga, or anyone associated with him, I will hunt you down, and finish what I started. Do you understand?"

Lito nodded, hands shaking.

"Now get the hell off Illium."

He was quick to comply, stepping around Thane and bolting out the door before it had even opened fully.

"Well, that was pretty impressive," Kasumi said from her spot on the couch. Shepard turned to lean against the desk, arms crossed, deep in thought. A hint of panic had crept into her bloodstream, and she quashed the memories that threatened to overtake her.

"If I'm correct," Garrus drawled, standing and stretching. "Karn Harga is the brother of a batarian slaver Archangel killed back on Omega. Kron Harga." He fixed Shepard with a blue-eyed stare, brow plates raised.

"So we go to Omega, and we kill Karn Harga." Shepard replied simply.

Her gut twisted with hate as she turned and leaned against the desk, taking slow breaths through her nose, willing her heart rate to slow.

She would be returning to the place Archangel had almost died, to face her very vivid past.


	11. Interlude: Ahyoka on Mindior

**A/N**: Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story so far. I'm incredibly flattered at the amount of positive reviews and messages I have received so far, as well as the amount of favorites and follows. It definitely keeps me motivated.

The next few chapters will be delving into darker, grittier territory. I am going to disclose now that for those of you who are triggered by non-con, I would suggest you not read the next two chapters I will be posting. While it is mostly implied, I want to play it safe. Also, while we are in full disclosure, I am going to admit that I hate batarians. Even when I was only a spectator watching others play through the ME trilogy, I was never a fan of the four-eyed creatures. That being said, if you like batarians, the next few chapters may...offend you. Sorry not sorry? They, besides vorcha, are my favorite punching bags. There has to be other bad guys besides the Collectors and Reapers, right?

* * *

_The bark of the tree was unforgiving against the palms of her hands as she scaled the trunk with ease. Around her, leaves swirled in an Indian Summer breeze, grey-green and husky as they rubbed together. The tree was a tall but simple climb, several shimmies and carefully placed grabs and she was in the canopy. _

_Grassland and wheat fields came together in a clash of cerulean and blonde, stitched by fences and irrigation ditches, soft waves of vegetation undulating as the wind whipped across them. From her perch atop the tree, she could see the colony unfurl ahead of her, low metal prefab pods hugging the curve of the land, funneling people as they went about their day. She leaned against the sturdy trunk, adjusting the handmade bow strapped across her back, next to a quiver of arrows. It had been a gift from her aluli, made from a bent sapling and taut braided cord. She was good with the weapon; aluli had made her practice every morning after chores. 'Hold on to the past and our traditions, uwetsi,' she would say as she painted her face for the day. Her hair hung long down her back, thick ochre braided and tied; preparing for the wheat harvest with a large breakfast of corncakes and real syrup from Earth. Edoda had been pouring the sugary condiment onto his plate as she left the house, tucking a corncake in her pocket for later. His blue eyes had crinkled at the corners when he smiled at her. 'Going on an adventure?' he inquired, data pad in one hand and fork in the other. She had nodded and bolted out the door, eager to begin her day._

_The whispering of leaves was soothing, and she stretched her legs out in front of her on the branch, finding a comfortable spot. The warm breeze lulled her into a light sleep._

_She smelled the smoke before she saw it._

_It was acrid, not the sharp, earthy burn of a prairie fire. This caught in her lungs and she choked her way back into consciousness, eyes stinging. The leaves were no longer stirring, and she shoved her way up above the canopy. _

_The colony was burning. _

_Thick, heavy, black smoke rose from the pods, flames licking across the ground and twining through windows and doorways._

_Panic tripped into her bloodstream, sending sharp spikes of heat to her extremities as she slid down the tree and hit the ground running. The curve of her bow slapped across her back, and with each stride she became more and more terrified. She could hear the screaming now, and the sharp pop of gunshots. There were several storage and residential pods at the edge of town, and she crept around the corner of one, body shaking so hard her teeth chattered._

_The colony was in utter chaos; large, hulking, muddy-skinned batarians armed with assault rifles were dragging colonists out of their homes and shoving them to the ground, hands and feet bound like hogs. She watched as her school teacher tried to claw her way out of the clutches of her assailant, screaming profanities, only to be cracked across the face with a pistol. She fell silent, crumbling to the ground, bleeding from a gash across her forehead._

_She knew she would never make it across the expanse to her family's pod unseen. There were too many, too much smoke, too much fire, too much screaming and gunshots and eyes. _

_The pod that was her cover was open on her side, and she flung herself through the doorway and bolted it behind her. Panting, she pressed herself against the door, knees shaking. Tinted plasglass windows were evenly spaced around the structure, which had been someone's home. Their coffee mug was shattered across the floor, inky black liquid spreading in a wide pool towards the doorway. It mingled with the fresh, sharp maroon of blood that speckled the table and floors and walls, coagulating in a viscous sludge. A cot was shoved against the far wall, armchair and couch occupying the other._

_The door behind her began to slide open, and she sprinted to the other side of the pod and crouched behind the cot, using it as cover. Instinctually, she removed the bow from her back and slid an arrow from the quiver, pressing the nock against taut braided cord. A lone batarian walked into the pod, the door hissing shut behind him. His four eyes were searching for stragglers, any human who may have managed to hide from the raiders. He was shuffling forward now, ten feet from the edge of her cover, pausing to stare out the window. _

_Many thoughts were flashing through her head, but adrenaline was slowly consuming her. She didn't remember telling herself to draw the bow, resting her thumb against the curve of her cheekbone. She didn't remember telling her body to stand, pushing out from her cover into full view of the intruder. She didn't remember telling her fingers to release their grip, sending the arrow straight into the chest of the batarian._

_She watched as he crumpled to the floor, curling in on the arrow protruding from his body with jerky twitches. A pool of orange-red blood had begun to seep from the wound in a viscous swirl. The silent kill of her bow and arrow was a small triumph; it had not alerted to whatever brethren her victim had outside the pod._

_Replacing the bow to its spot on her back, she crept towards the bed and steeled herself to glance out a dark window._

_She shoved her fist into her mouth to stifle her scream. _

_A dark-skinned batarian had aluli by her hair, dragging her towards a tangle of conscious and unconscious captives huddled together between several pods. He was dragging her like a rag doll as she clutched her skull, mouth open wide in pain. She was lifted up by her shirt and thrown towards the group, stumbling onto all fours, head hung and chest heaving. Her assailant approached her and shouted something in the guttural batarian home language. She replied by lashing out at him with a closed fist, connecting with the side of his face. He staggered as she tried to push herself back onto her feet to run, only to be caught by her long, dark braid and flung to the ground on her stomach, face pressed into the dirt. She was still yelling as he clipped his gun back to his side and knelt down, ripping the back of her pants open with a violent tear. The batarian was looming over her, unbuckling his pants with his free hand, the other clutching aluli's wrists behind her back. _

_In the pod, she turned away from the window and drew her knees to her chest, silent sobs wracking her body. _

_For six days she hid beneath the cot, watching the blood and coffee dry on the floor. She ate what she scrounged from the abandoned pod, not daring to leave, even though the screams had long faded into the distance as the batarians hauled the colonists away. The body of her victim had remained where he fell, her terror too much to remove it from the pod. _

_For six days, she lay curled in on herself, weeping softly until the floor became too cold, and shivering, she would crawl onto the cot and sleep._

_They came after six days, human soldiers carrying guns, dressed in blue and gold armor. She had been curled under the cot, shoulders pressed against the wall as the door scraped open. Booted feet shuffled in, stepping in the puddle of dried blood and coffee. Voices speaking in Standard, assessing the state of the apartment pod. A foot came to close to her hiding place, and she wasn't quick enough with her fist to suppress her whimper._

_A face appeared, round eyes, only two of them, and a mouth that asked if she was ok, don't be scared, we're here to help. A gloved hand, dark blue gauntlet, offered to her. She took it, her soft tan skin fragile compared to ceramic armor. There were four of them, staring incredulously as she straightened, adjusting the bow on her back. Her shirt was filthy and rumpled, pants ripped. She had ran out of water on the fourth day, and her lips were dry and cracking._

_"Are you the only one?" a solider asked. _

_She nodded._

_"How long have you been hiding?"_

_"Six days," she croaked, scared of her own voice._

_"Did you kill him?" another asked, eyes on her bow._

_She nodded slowly._

_"What is your name?"_

_She had been named seven days after her birth. Her aluli, previously told she could have no children, had stared down at the small bundle of dark hair and tan skin in her arms. She was named for the happiness she had brought. She had grown up a blissful child, cocooned in the love of a family that considered her their very own source of infinite contentment. _

_The soldier asked her again, and her tongue tripped on words she had recited and memorized a thousand times in her life, proudly parroting at anyone who asked the meaning of her name. For six days she had pressed her shoulders onto cold, corrugated metal floor, gathering up hope and memories and shoving them away into the recesses of her mind. Her happiness was gone, obliterated at the hands of creatures with too many eyes, and all she carried with her now was a name._

_"Ahyoka Shepard."_


	12. Chapter XI

**A/N**: A small filler chapter. Poor Shepard is having issues controlling her emotions and PTSD, and we'll see her struggling to connect with her younger self as Ahyoka Shepard. Good thing she has Garrus to help her work it out, in his own way. It's about to get kinky, folks.

That being said, if you don't like human/turian sex, blood play or violence, skip this chapter. If you do, then enjoy ;)

* * *

Living in a wide landscape are the flowers –  
Rosenberg I only repeat what you were saying –  
the shell and the hawk every hour  
are slaying men and jerboas, slaying

the mind: but the body can fill  
the hungry flowers and the dogs who cry words  
at nights, the most hostile things of all.  
But that is not news. Each time the night discards

draperies on the eyes and leaves the mind awake  
I look each side of the door of sleep  
for the little coin it will take  
to buy the secret I shall not keep.

I see men as trees suffering  
or confound the detail and the horizon.  
Lay the coin on my tongue and I will sing  
of what the others never set eyes on.

_Desert Flowers_, Keith Douglas

* * *

XIII: The Door of Sleep

The Normandy was deathly quiet during the night cycle, slipping through the vacuum towards Omega. Shepard had showered in scalding hot water on their return from Illium, until her skin was splotchy and red from the heat and steam. Garrus had quietly stole down to the main battery on the pretense that he was very much behind on his calibrations. Shepard knew better, of course. He was giving her a chance to collect herself without the pressure of his presence, and she silently thanked him for his tact, but she was also worried her dismissal of any concern he exhibited had been too harsh. This was something she didn't know how to deal with herself, and she didn't need to fall apart in front of him. Her hands had been shaking since Karn Harga's name had slipped past Lito Baros' lips, filling her chest with a burning rage that left her blood smoldering.

Fate had a way of throwing little reminders in her face. It unearthed issues she had never come to deal with fully, or had compacted down into the back of her mind. Elysium had been her first encounter with batarians since the raid on Mindoir. After the dust had settled, the brass had pulled her aside, slapped her with the Star of Terra, and a diagnosis of PTSD. Her status as a war hero skyrocketed, and the Alliance continued to use her as a poster child of the resilience of humanity. Two years after the Skyllian Blitz, she had been dropped on Torfan, and proceeded to slaughter every single batarian that crossed her path. At the end of the battle, the Alliance had come out victorious. Their poster child was designated with a new nickname, and even more fame. If brass had realized their perfect weapon was spiraling out of control, they did little to quell it other than several mandatory sessions with a military psychologist. They eventually gave her a clean bill of health, several more awards, and a promotion. Who was she to argue?

During the Blitz, through her adrenaline haze, Shepard dully recognized no matter how much batarian blood she spilled, it would never truly quench her burning need for absolute revenge. Many times she had snuffed the life from them, but it only dulled the pain. The attempt at Garrus' life had been the schism; splitting her morality from pure abhorrence. It consumed her, wrapping itself around her form. Too many of her past issues colliding with her present, dropping into a very desolate place in her psyche. Part of her normal self still remained, bobbing quietly on the surface of her conscious, telling her she needed to rein it in, control the energy and use it. So, with shower-damp hair, she pulled on a t-shirt and leggings, and fished her bow out of the closet.

She had long since stopped wondering how Cerberus had found the weapon. It had been among her personal items on the original Normandy, stowed away in her locker. After waking in the lab, touring the new ship, and acclimating to her quarters, she had found it, unceremoniously shoved into the back of her closet, behind several uniforms. The original quiver was there as well, along with all dozen hand-fletched arrows she had painstakingly restored several times over. It was the only piece of Mindoir she had left, and part of her felt as if she should discard the entire thing and be done with it. Some form of closure. But it had been given to her by her aluli, a gift for turning thirteen. Every day she had practiced with it, shooting at makeshift targets stapled to trees. They made her practice with real weapons of course; pistols and assault rifles, as was required for all colonists over the age of twelve. The bow had steadily remained her favorite until she enlisted, and the range master pressed a sniper into her eager hands.

Now, sitting on her bed with the bow in her lap, she ran her fingers over the wood, tracing the intricate geometric shapes carved into the limbs. The art of hand-making a recurve was most likely lost, dying along with her culture and her people. Here in space, there was no practical reason for the weapon, but Shepard felt the need to mentally connect with the more solid mindset archery brought her. It had always been a form of meditation. Gathering the bow and quiver, she left her quarters and hit the elevator button for the cargo bay.

Garrus paced several times over in the main battery, pausing only to listen for footsteps outside the door. Algorithms were good for distracting, but there was something about the deadness of Shepard's eyes made that his stomach curl with anxiety. Guided by his restless state, he found his feet wandering to the elevator and up to the CIC. It was the middle of the night cycle, and the only person awake was Joker, ensconced comfortably in his pilot's chair. Several screens were open above the console, displaying live vid feeds from various places on the ship.

"I'm glad I'm not the only one all keyed up over this," Joker said somberly. Garrus had never heard the pilot not be sarcastic, and settled his lean frame against the co-pilot chair, observing the vid screens.

"I am a little confused as to why she is so worked up over a single batarian," the turian replied casually. His confession earned him a pointed stare from Joker.

"You are aware of Shepard's…past, correct?"

"That depends on what you're referring to."

Joker sighed and adjusted the brim of his cap, pulling it lower over his eyes.

"Her entire family, hell, her entire colony was killed or abducted by batarian slavers when she was sixteen," the pilot shook his head. "I thought that was common knowledge. The Alliance sure shoved it down everyone's throat before…"

"Before the reapers?" Garrus supplied quietly.

Joker snorted. "Before they set her lose on Torfan. After Elysium, and after the commendation for her participation in the Skyllian Blitz."  
The turian stilled. "They let her partake in a raid on batarian space? After what happened to her family?"

"Do you not get the news, Garrus? Ever heard of the 'Butcher of Torfan'?"

Garrus nodded, eyes widening.

"Shepard is the Butcher of Torfan."

"Ah. I had never made that…connection."

Joker was closing vid screens, pulling up a single live feed and expanding it. The cargo hold was normally empty during the night cycle, but now, a figure flitted across the camera's view, shoving empty shipping crates against a wall.

"What is she doing?" Garrus asked, moving to hover over Joker's shoulder for a better view.

"Target practice," he supplied, zooming in the feed.

Several crates were now stacked, and Shepard leaned a sparring mat up against them, a paper target taped to it.

"She's going to shoot inside the ship?" the turian croaked.

"No, moron. Watch."

On the screen, Shepard was counting paces from the upended mat to the other side of the cargo hold. Something was slung across her chest and on her back, bumping against the back of her thighs as she walked. Garrus made a tight, discontented noise in the back of his throat.

"What is that?"

"A bow and arrow," EDI's holo supplied, appearing next to the vid screen. "I believe it is a common weapon of Shepard's ancestors, used for hunting and warfare before the invention of gunpowder-propelled projectiles."

"Guns. They're called guns," Joker said, a touch of annoyance coloring his voice.

"According the Commander's dossier, under the 'weapon proficiency' section, she is listed as a sharpshooter on sniper rifles and pistols, an expert on assault rifles and SMGs, and a master archer on all standard types of bows. The Alliance does not require its enlisted to test their archery skills, but the Commander was involved in several cultural and local tournaments. She was ranked number one for several years on Earth while in N7 training. She is also proficient with knives."

Garrus let a hiss escape through his teeth as he watched Shepard's form on the vid screen. The knives part he had seen first hand many times. This bow was an interesting deviation from the usual mass-effect propelled snipers she so loved. On screen, Shepard had removed the bow and was now gracefully sliding an arrow out of the quiver and nocking it.

"She's going to punch holes in the sparring mat," Joker quipped, leaning back in his chair to study Garrus. "I've seen the heads she has on those arrows. She made them. Carved them. Out of bone."

The weapon was now raised, bow arm straight, arrow resting against her extended finger. The wooden limbs bent as she drew the string back. Even on screen, Garrus recognized her breathing technique, which had become so familiar to him. A deep inhale, held for several heartbeats, and the bow loosed on exhale, arrow embedding across the hold into the 'heart' of the target.

"So yeah," Joker drawled, eyes on the screen. "Long story short, Shepard knows about sixty-seven ways to kill, and is very, very angry right now. Oh, did I mention we're currently on course to Omega, to track down a batarian slaver? I don't know what's going on between you two, nor do I want to…" Joker turned to stare at Garrus' still form. "But my advice? Stay out of her way."

"She stopped me from killing Sidonis," he supplied, crossing his arms against his chest.

"Uh, yeah. Probably because murdering someone in cold blood on the Citadel in the middle of the damn day doesn't look too good on your record. Especially piled on top of your current work for a known terrorist organization." Joker shook his head and sighed. "While I don't pity the idiots we're after, I'm also worried. Before…" he dropped his eyes and twisted his hands in his lap. "Before, on the first Normandy, she was in control of herself. But now?" his voice drifted.

Several times Garrus had accompanied Shepard on missions, and each time her carefully calculated demeanor had dissolved into utter blood lust. There was no better term for it. Before her death, she had easily been the best infiltrator the N7 had ever churned out; completely silent, leaving no trace other than dead bodies. After her resurrection, she had become utterly ruthless to the point of blind rage. On the ship she was calm, of course, the picture perfect Commander. On the ground, she was a whirlwind of death. In any other person, the loss of control would result in recklessness. For Shepard, it only amplified her precision. But it wasn't her usual MO.

"Just, promise you'll make sure she doesn't hurt herself?" Joker asked quietly, staring down at his intertwined fingers. "I don't think I could handle her dying. Again."

Garrus gently clapped a hand on the pilot's shoulder.

"I wasn't there to save her the first time. But I'm here now." With a nod, he left the bridge for the elevator.

* * *

I need to make more arrows, she thought as the last one left her bow in the blink of an eye, punching through the now shredded paper target. She had been careful not to group them too close, in an effort to save the fletchings from being too damaged. Inhale, draw, aim, exhale, release, repeat. At thirteen, she could barely pull the bow back far enough to propel an arrow more than a meter. Now, with military training and cybernetic strength, she had to be careful to not draw back too hard.

She was down to her last arrow when the elevator door slid open. Garrus emerged, still fully armored in his Archangel gear.

"Don't turians ever sleep?" she asked, pulling another arrow from her quiver with a practiced motion. Her eyes never left the paper target.

"I heard you were having all the fun down here," he replied, sauntering over to her. "And you didn't even invite me."

Her lips twitched as she nocked her arrow, drawing with a smooth motion. Shoulder muscles bunched beneath her shirt. Inhale, draw.

"The invitation is always open, Garrus. I just figured you were tired, considering you were poisoned earlier." Aim.

"Somehow I keep forgetting about that," he replied, scratching the back of his neck, looking at her reproachfully.

"I highly doubt that." Exhale, release. The arrow hit the target with a smack, and she lowered the bow, turning to look at him. He looked concerned, head tilted to the side in confusion.

"Shepard…" he said, voice wavering slightly. She was radiating tension, feet braced against the cold metal floor of the cargo bay, spread shoulder-width in shoot stance. He was not the source of her stress, but the rational part of her brain had been left behind in the abandoned office on Illium. His calm gaze bored into her, and she turned, breaking eye contact. In turian body language, she had just insulted him, dismissing his presence.

She half expected him to turn and walk away, to let her wallow in her dark mood, but instead, he began shucking pieces of armor, twisting off his greaves and throwing them to the side, unlatching shoulder guards, all while keeping his eyes on her.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just give me the turian equivalent of 'fuck off'," he quipped, sliding catches on his shoulder guard open, peeling the ceramic away from his undersuit. "Put the bow down, Shepard. Preferably somewhere out of the way."

Her head snapped back to him, eyes narrowed. "What are you doing, Garrus." Tones of command laced the statement. It wasn't a question; it was an order to stop. He was down to just his undersuit now, discarded pieces of armor flung against the closest wall. He unzipped the shirt, pulling it off over his head, sending it to join discarded blue ceramic. His eyes flashed dangerously as he leaned down to pull off his boots and shin guards. Shepard cleared her throat, feeling her pulse spike with each piece of cast-off covering. In just black undersuit pants, he sauntered over to her, grabbing the bow out of her hand. She watched it happen, felt the weight of the quiver leave her back as he removed that as well, and stashed them against the wall where his armor lay.

"Garrus…" she said, quietly, voice dissipating in the cavernous hold.

He was standing a meter from her, eyes never leaving hers. Shepard took a brief moment to appreciate how tall he was even out of armor, imposing and strong.

"Garrus," she said, louder, eyes narrowing. In response, he crouched, and let out a predatory growl, baring teeth.

The normal human response to a turian's challenge would be to flee. Shepard's response was instinctual; she bent her knees and met his eye contact, baring her teeth. Her damp hair was pulled back into a hasty knot at the base of her neck, and she curled her hands into fists, breath hitching.

"I recall a previous conversation we had, Commander," he said, voice dripping with subvocals. "About blowing off steam…about reach and flexibility." He began circling her slowly. "It looks to me that you need to ease some tension, and I believe I owe you. Or rather, you wanted to see Archangel in action."

Her brain barely had a chance to register his implication before he was on her, launching himself across the distance between them with blinding speed. She reacted half a second too late, and hit the metal floor of the cargo bay hard, pinned by his weight. She felt the rage boil up in her, along with the aching twang of want and need. He had her upper arms pinioned beneath his hands, straddling her hips, a low, rumbling growl escaping through bared teeth. She couldn't move her upper body, but he had let his head get too close to her face. With an echoing crack, she head butted him. The impact made him reel back in pain, and with the weight lessened, she twisted her arms out of his grip and slid along the floor, gathering her legs up under her and planting bare feet on his chest. He shook his head, trying to clear his vision, a second before coiled thigh muscles sent him flying off her. He hit the floor with a loud thump.

Shepard was bleeding freely from a gash on her forehead, courtesy of thick turian brow plates. Stars popping in front of her eyes, she struggled to her feet, back into a ready crouch, as Garrus managed to do the same.

Her head ached, and she wiped blood out of her eyes with the back of her hand, panting. Part of her wanted to talk, to form words, but something about the gleam in his eyes, teeth bared, made the idea speaking impossible. Instead, she felt adrenaline coursing through her blood stream, bringing his form into sharp focus. Nimbly, she circled to the right, and launched herself at him, landing a blow on the uninjured side of his face. He tried to grab her, but she danced away out of his reach, laughing. A hair-raising snarl slipped past his lips, and a leg swung out from underneath him, catching her off balance. She saw his intent the moment before he moved, and jumped, avoiding the worst of the blow. Absorbing the impact, she landed on her toes and rolled onto her shoulder, grabbing at his spurs as she went down. He was still off-balance from the kick, and she ripped his anchored leg up, causing him to tumble to floor on his stomach with a sharp oof.

In less than a second she was on him, pinning him with her body weight, knees clamping his arms to his side. She leaned down and bit the back of his neck. Hard.

The sharp intake of air whistled through his teeth as her mouth met his flesh, and his taloned toes scraped against the metal floor, seeking purchase. He found it, and twisted under her, hands encircling her thighs as he suddenly was sitting up, her straddling him, his face inches from hers. His movement was blindingly fast, and she gasped as his teeth met her shoulder, biting down through thin cotton.

The pain was sharp and sudden, and a moan escaped her mouth before she could stop it. Blunt human nails found soft skin under fringe, and she scratched down the back of his neck, eliciting another guttural snarl. His hands came up under her shirt and encircled her waist, talons biting into flesh. Craning, she found unplated skin on the side of his neck and bit again, tasting coppery blood as her teeth broke through.

She felt herself being lifted as he stood, her legs still wrapped around his waist, hands still tangled behind his fringe. He walked them back and set her on a crate, reaching up to slide a finger through her hair band, snapping it effortlessly. Dark hair tumbled down her back and around her shoulders, and he twisted his hand into it. She realized, dimly, his mouth had never left her shoulder, until he yanked her head back by her hair, running teeth across the soft skin of her throat.

"You don't have to talk to me, Shepard," he said quietly, mouth ghosting across her jaw. "But don't shut me out." As if to add emphasis, he nipped at her collarbone, ripping the shirt between teeth and skin. She became acutely aware of the parts of their bodies that touched; hot, sharp heat pooled between her thighs.

"EDI," she croaked, as his teeth found her throat again. "Lock the cargo hold door. No one is to come in here until I say so. Take all surveillance offline."

She didn't even bother listening for the AI's reply. Her mouth was on his neck again, biting, nails scratching down his bare back. His hands found her back, and she felt the fabric of her shirt fall away as he sliced it neatly with a talon. She hadn't bothered to put a bra on before coming down to the cargo hold, assuming she would be alone. Her back arched as he nipped his way down her chest, running his rough tongue over smooth skin. He knelt in front of her, deftly pulling down the leggings she wore, discarding them somewhere over his shoulder. Again, annoyed by the fabric between his mouth and her bare skin, he slid a talon under the waistband of her underwear and tore it away.

"I didn't mean to shut you out…" she gasped, abandoning her exploration of his skin to brace herself on the edge of the crate. Luckily, it was against the wall, so she could lean her bare back against metal as his hands curled around her thighs.

"Don't lie to me, Ayhoka," he growled, running his teeth up the inside of her thigh. "You've given me more of yourself in the past few weeks than you ever have. Don't shut me out now, when things get difficult. That's not what mates do."

She stilled, breath catching in her chest, and he felt her silence, pausing his ministrations to look up at her. Acutely aware of her vulnerability, she leaned forward, hands curling around his upper arms.

"What?"

He leaned back onto his haunches, letting her arms slide down to his wrists as he drew away.

"You told me you couldn't do this without me. You don't have to. I've always been there for you…no. That's not true. I wasn't there when you needed me the most, but I'm not going to let that happen again. I'm here, for you, always watching." He let a soft sigh escape through his clenched teeth. "For as long as you'll have me."

She could see the apprehension in his eyes - the need for confirmation from her. They had come so far, and yet so much had remained…unchanged. The closeness was no different than it had been before her death; her soul was never quite at peace unless his solid presence was beside her. He came with her on every mission – she couldn't fathom the thought of leaving the ship without him at her side. It had always been that way, in the before. In the after, her spirit and very essence of herself had been lost, until finding him again. Here, again, he was laying himself bare before her, completely vulnerable. The epitome of trust.

In response, she leaned forward, running her thumb against the bleeding wound her teeth had left on his neck. She raised the bloodied finger to her face, drawing a line from the high part of her cheekbone, under her eye, across the bridge of her nose, repeating on the other side of her face. A loose approximation of the clan markings etched into his skin. She painted her face for him, but this time with his blood, bright blue against tan.

She didn't comprehend that he was again pressed against her, nor did she notice he had divulged himself of the lower undersuit layer. She was aware of being lifted, cold metal against her skin, him blazing hot and filling her. Her legs were hooked above his hips, wrapped tightly around him. He pushed her against the wall, using it as leverage as he drove himself deeper into her, a soft growl vibrating in his chest. His feet scraped against the floor as she rocked into him, the back of her head cradled in one of his hands. His tongue brushed her forehead, passing over the broken skin where she had head butted him. It had long since stopped bleeding, the blood drying. The wound tingled in the wake of his exploration.

"I love you," she murmured into his neck, feeling the pulse against her lips.

Shepard had been with many people, all of them human, not all of them men. She had loved, and been loved, and been "in love", but never before had she opened her entire being to someone. With Garrus, her very soul was laid bare, every touch resonating through her. His teeth on her skin, their bodies intertwined, allowing both their energies to flow unrestrained between them. He was able to take her to the most primal places, opening her up to her true disposition; she was human, but she was more, and needed more than what another member of her species could provide. In him, she found herself – a mirror image, an individual who was not afraid of her true nature, but instead revered her for it. And in turn, she worshiped him, for everything he was.

He reversed their positions, his back against the wall, and sank down to the floor. His hand still cradled the back of her head, and his mouth was locked onto the junction between her neck and shoulder. She could tell she was bleeding, but as the pain spiked, so did her pleasure. He drove himself into her with wild abandon, and she met each of his thrusts with equal passion, feeling the familiar build of heat pool in her lower belly. He could feel her beginning to tighten around him, and she could feel him stiffen even more in her. She interlocked her fingers behind his fringe and found the soft skin of his neck, biting down as hard as her human jaws would allow. His resulting groan vibrated through her shoulder and shot straight to her groin, and she came violently, tipping him over the edge. He rammed into her one final time, and she felt him release, drawing out the last of her aftershocks until she collapsed against his chest, utterly spent.

It took several minutes for them to catch their breath. The wound on her head had long since stopped bleeding, but she could feel the drying blood on her forehead. Her neck was dripping bright red, a drop sliding down along the curve of her collarbone. He wiped it away with a thumb, and rested his forehead against the back of her head.

"It looks like a murder was committed down here," Garrus muttered. Shepard was curled up in his lap, both of them leaning against the cargo hold wall. He was extremely correct; there were splashes of blue and red blood and scratches on the floor and several shipping crates. His armor was scattered everywhere, her clothes torn and thrown haphazardly.

"Yeah…" she replied quietly, head leaning against his chest. "I really don't know how I'm going to explain the…gouges in the floor. Or the shipping crates. Or the wall."

"Blame it on Grunt?" he replied, fingers lightly tracing the drying blue lines on her face.

"How well can krogan smell?"

He shrugged, fingers moving to raw, red teeth marks on her shoulder and neck.

"Good thing for Cerberus uniforms." There was a hint of humor in his voice.

She glanced down at the criss-crossing of bite marks and scratches on her body and laughed.

"They'll be gone in a few hours. Good thing for Cerberus cybernetics."

He made a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat.

"What?" her eyes snapped back to his.

"I'm not sure how your skin will react to dextro saliva. Cybernetics may not clear it up completely."

It was Shepard's turn to shrug, and she laid a hand on the wounded side of his face.

"More scars to add to the collection, then. However, I am very cold and very naked, and a shower sounds fantastic, considering we're probably almost to Omega by now."

The only article of clothing that had survived their tryst was her leggings, so she deftly slid them on, pulling her arms through her ruined shirt and tying it in the front to hold it together, eliciting a snort from Garrus.

"You need to be nicer to my clothes, Vakarian. I don't have very many of them."

He picked up her torn underwear and hung them from the end of his fringe in response.

* * *

They managed to clean up their mess and make it back up to her quarters in time to hear Joker's "Ten minutes out from Omega" announcement. Garrus was sprawled out on her couch, fully armored.

"How do you want to play this, Shepard?" he asked, tucking his hands behind his fringe.

She had quickly showered to wash blue and red blood off of her, and was now donning her armor, checking levels and closing gaskets.

"Well, I was hoping your knowledge of Omega would be useful…"

"Oh," he quipped, showing teeth. "You're going to let me play?"

"Actually," she responded, flicking her braid back over her shoulder and donning her gloves. "I was hoping you would let Archangel come out and play."

His resulting bark of laugh filled her quarters.

"Really though, Garrus," she continued, settling on the bed so she could pull her boots on. "The only way I'm letting you set foot on Omega again is if you're Archangel. Or if you had a different set of armor. Which, you currently don't. And I will remedy that the next time we are somewhere civilized." She put a finger up to silence his retort. "I don't trust anyone else to be at my side for this, and I need you there. I need you to keep my head on straight." Her eyes searched his earnestly, and he nodded.

"I suppose Archangel could clear his schedule to bring a little more justice to Omega."

"Good." She closed the last clasp on her greaves and stood. "I'm thinking the entire team should come out and flex a little muscle. This is Omega, after all."

"The more the merrier, definitely. If Karn Harga is anything like his brother, he'll be hiding behind several layers of minons."

Shepard tapped a foot on the floor, thinking.

"EDI, have the entire team in the comm room in five."

The AI's holo flickered into view. "Of course, Commander."

"Tell Joker he's invited, too. I'll find some use for him."

Her holo disappeared, and she turned back to Garrus, smiling.

"Is it bad that I'm not stressed? That I'm excited?"

He pushed himself off the couch to stand in front of her, placing a gloved hand on the side of her face.

"Reach and flexibility, Shepard. Now, if Archangel is going to make a reappearance, I believe he would want Ahyoka Shepard at his side." He walked her backwards to the edge of the bed and sat her down, reaching to the nightstand for her cosmetic bag. "Which one is it?"

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, and pulled the pot of black eyeliner out, uncapping the lid.

"No," he said, grabbing the container from her. "Let me."

He pulled his glove off with his teeth, and dipped a finger into the jar. There was something breathtakingly intimate about the act; his warmth radiating across her as he drew the lines of her war paint, taking care to ghost lightly over her eyelids and across the bridge of her nose, caressing her lower lip, over her chin and down to the hollow of her throat. Her eyes were unfocused when she opened them, feeling the cosmetic begin to dry on her skin.

"I should probably get real paint," she said, blinking. He had knelt between her legs and was studying her in earnest, the look of reverence etched on his face.

"We'll add it to our shopping list, along with new armor for me." He gestured to the scorched hole on his cowl.

"Well, let's go figure out how we're going to kick some batarian slaver ass," she said lightly, helping him pull his glove back on. He caught the back of her head in his hand and brought their foreheads together.

"I'll be right next to you. I love you."

"I know," she responded, leaning into his touch.

* * *

Footnotes: Before we move on in the story, I want to address a few things.

I began writing this story because I read many fantastic versions of the FemShep/Garrus romance, almost all of them slow burns through ME2 into ME3. I wanted to create my own, unique version, and deviate a little from the original storyline to add more depth to my characters.

In doing so, I have received a few private messages criticizing my depiction of Garrus as a predator. I'm going to just stop there and lay something out in the open.

My depiction of turians will be as apex predators who evolved into fully sapient beings. They are not brainless, bloodthirsty animals. They are, however, still incredibly in touch with their baser instincts, thus different from humans. Which they _should_ be. Turians are not humans, and humans are not turians. This is a species of militarized individuals driven by the need to protect their people. They come from different clans, and will fight to protect what is theirs to the death. They are not cute and cuddly, full of sudden romance and drama.

While it has been a challenge to write Garrus as such without making him appear flat, I enjoy my depiction of him and believe, in my opinion, that he is very similar to the in-game Garrus. There is nothing incorrect about the way other people choose to depict our favorite turian, but for my story, I wrote him the way I wanted to. Simple as that. If you don't like the way I write him, then you don't need to read my story. If you do, then thank you!

I am going to assume that all of my readers are here because they enjoy the way the story is progressing, and have a connection with the characters. And maybe they enjoy kinky human/turian sex. Nothing wrong with that, either.


	13. Chapter XII

**A/N**: I am SO sorry it took me so long to post this. I started back at University last week, so it's been a little hectic around here. But, here we are, a little revenge Ahyoka Shepard style. Can I just say that her and Archangel make one badass team?

**Trigger warning: mentions and descriptions of non-con in this chapter. **

Disclaimer: Bioware owns the characters. I just manipulate them as my mind sees fit.

* * *

Who is the third who walks always beside you?  
When I count, there are only you and I together  
But when I look ahead up the white road  
There is always another one walking beside you  
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded  
I do not know whether a man or a woman  
—But who is that on the other side of you?

A woman drew her long black hair out tight  
And fiddled whisper music on those strings  
And bats with baby faces in the violet light  
Whistled, and beat their wings  
And crawled head downward down a blackened wall  
And upside down in air were towers  
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours  
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.

Excerpts from _What the Thunder Says_, T.S. Eliot

XII: Faces in the Violet Light

The entire team had assembled in the comm room as Shepard crossed the threshold, Garrus following closely behind her. Her tension was palpable, but restrained, and as she took her customary position at the head of the table, Garrus stood behind her, solid and steady.

Briefly, in the privacy of her quarters, they had roughed out a plan. Shepard was an infiltrator by nature, relying on stealth and a good sniping position. They would, however, require more than just subversion. From what knowledge she gleaned from Garrus, there would be significant resistance in many forms from any number of Harga's men, including the possibility of slaves. The thought made Shepard's gut twist unpleasantly; a soft voice in the back of her mind had inquired how she would react if any of the slaves they encountered had been from Mindoir. She immediately dismissed the notion, instead busying herself with checking gaskets on her armor. But now, in the presence of the team she had worked so hard to build, she felt hope and pride blooming in her chest.

"I feel as if this is becoming all too familiar," Shepard quipped, surveying the individuals before her. "However, our shore leave was interrupted, and that's just rude."

Several of the crew laughed. Even Joker smiled, though he was still resonating just enough malice to keep the diameter of his personal bubble intact.

"Several of you here are familiar with Omega and it's lovely reputation," Shepard continued, eying Zaeed and Mordin. "We're at a slight disadvantage...but when has that ever stopped us?" She turned towards Garrus, who stepped up next to her, a rueful look on his face. "Chances are, we're going to be shooting a lot of mercs. And make a lot of things explode." From the back of the room, Jack whooped. "Each of you as an individual is strong, but this is a chance for us to work as a cohesive unit, but a slight deviation from our current mission. The batarian we're after goes by the name Karn Harga. In the event that one of you gets to him before I do, please do not kill him unless absolutely necessary. Archangel and I would like to have a little chat with him." She looked up at Garrus and smiled, eyes glittering. Zaeed let out a quiet wolf whistle.

"That being said, we need a plan. Or maybe several…considering our recent luck. Jack, if I allow you access to the armory, can I trust that you will use explosives only to blow up Harga's minions, and nothing else?"

The tattooed woman flashed a vicious grin. "I'll blow up whatever the fuck you want me to, Shep. Just point me at 'em."

Shepard nodded, fighting back a smile. "Zaeed, I believe your knowledge of explosives and Omega's structures will be a good compliment to Jack's exuberance. Once we figure out where Harga is hiding, I'll be relying on you two for a distraction. Proximity mines, contact explosive, anything to draw them out into the open where Archangel, Thane and I can take them out from sniper positions.

"I'm going to need to make a visit to Aria, to let the queen bitch know what we're up to. I doubt she's going to enjoy us blowing up areas of her station, but leave that to me."

She turned to Miranda, who was wearing a look of utter annoyance. The Cerberus operative had attempted to pull Shepard aside after their return from Lito's interrogation on Illium, arguing that she should not be distracting herself from the real mission at hand. Shepard didn't necessarily enjoy pulling the "I'm commanding officer" card, but with Miranda, it was often necessary.

"XO Lawson, I'm giving you a choice," Shepard said, crossing her arms and straightening her back slightly. Alpha posture. "You can remain here with the ship, and monitor the team's progress. Otherwise, you can go with Joker, who will be borrowing a sky car from one of the transit stations."

"I'm sorry, Commander," Joker said, leaning forward. "I don't think I heard you correctly. You want me to steal a sky car?"

"I didn't say steal," Shepard replied, raising a finger at the pilot. "Borrow. We'll be returning it, after you're done with it."

Joker snorted and shook his head. "And just what am I supposed to do with a stolen sky car?"

"You're going to be making sure Harga doesn't have a secondary escape route of any sort. The Normandy is a little too large to patrol the docks, but a sky car should do the trick and look inconspicuous. If Aria proves to be generous, I'll have schematics of the entire station that I'll forward to everyone. You and Lawson can monitor traffic chatter and make sure any ship or shuttle belonging to Harga stays on this rock."

The pilot paled slightly beneath his hat, but nodded.

"I'll make sure he does his job correctly, Commander," Miranda said, eying the pilot with suspicion.

"Thank you, Lawson. Tali, Kasumi, I'm going to need your hacking skills. If we can infiltrate their base without tripping any alarms, it gives Jack and Zaeed a better element of surprise."

The thief had been hovering quietly behind Jacob, eyes hidden in the shadow of her cowl. The lower half of her face was still visible, lips spreading in a happy grin. Shepard would have preferred to have Kasumi by her side, but the little woman was something of a tech genius. Garrus had warned of certain security measures he and his crew had encountered during their vigilante work; between Kasumi and Tali, anything mechanical and hackable didn't stand a chance.

"Shepard and I are going to talk to Aria," Garrus said, and Shepard's stomach fluttered with pride at the hint of command in his voice. "Jacob, I'd like you, Mordin, Grunt and Samara to be our assault team. Once Zaeed and Jack set off their explosives, Harga's crew will be forced out of whatever hiding place they're in, and right into our line of fire. Hopefully we can take down enough of them to get to Harga himself. Zaeed, Jack, if you could blow a hole through their headquarters, and possibly trap Harga, that would be best."

Grunt slammed his meaty fists together in excitement. "Finally. I get to kill something. Even better that it's batarians."

"Most likely vorcha as well," Mordin supplied. "Regenerative properties, not as strong as krogan, but still problematic. Will prepare accordingly." He turned to Shepard. "The item you requested is ready in my lab. I will meet you there."

"Thank you, Mordin," she replied. "The rest of you, go suit up and be ready to go in thirty minutes. That includes you, Joker. No hiding. No excuses. Take us in and dock, but I'm going to have EDI seal the airlock as soon as we're all off the ship."

"The Normandy will be safe in my…hands," EDI's said, projecting her voice throughout the room. "Regardless of how figurative they may be."

The pilot made a rude noise, but nodded, albeit grudgingly. The crew filed out with a buzz of excitement, leaving Garrus and Shepard behind.

"Did you get a new toy from Mordin?" he asked, crossing his arms and staring down at her, a hint of humor in his eyes.

"Something like that. Come see."

The pair made their way to the salarian's corner of the tech lab. Mordin was humming quietly to himself, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Ah yes. Shepard, Vakarian." Mordin cleared his throat excitedly. Shepard could practically feel the excitement buzzing through him. "As promised." From a locker next to his lab table, he procured a rifle - a perfect copy of Shepard's Widow. Beautiful and dark, it glinted under the lab lights.

"I had Mordin develop one for you," she said, looking up at Garrus through her lashes. The turian was utterly still, mouth open slightly as he drank in the sight of the rifle. "I also had him put a thermal scope on it, like mine. We match!"

"Appropriate gift," Mordin said as Garrus lifted the gun from the table, extending the stock and muzzle with a push of a button. "The recoil may take some…adjustment. Significant kickback, incredibly powerful. Turian physiology resilient; muscle density and bone strength suitable for full-power settings."

Garrus tore his eyes away from the gun to stare at Shepard.

"You got me a rifle," he croaked.

"Oh, you know what they say," Shepard replied casually, laying a hand on his arm. "The way to a turian's heart is through large, powerful guns."

He compressed the gun back to its reduced size, clicking it into place on his back in one swift movement. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mordin slink away with a smile on his face. He's learning, she thought in relief.

Garrus caught the back of her head in his gloved hand, and bent to bring her forehead to his.

"Now I have to find something to one-up this," he said, voice husky. "It's all part of your plan, isn't it?"

Shepard smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "I have to find some way to keep you around."

He snorted and straightened up, running a hand down her braid and catching the end to rub between his fingers.

"I'm sure there will be plenty of targets for me to test my new gun out on."

"Just because you have a fancy new rifle doesn't mean you're going to beat me on the head count, Vakarian."

"Keep dreaming, Shepard."

* * *

Afterlife was the expected swirling mass of dancing bodies, drunken patrons and Aria's various bodyguards. Grizz, per the usual, seemed rather excited to see Shepard.

"Commander, good to have you back," he said with a nod and a flick of his large mandibles. A hint of suggestion dripped through is subvocals, and next to Shepard, Garrus hastily turned his bark of laughter into a cough.

"Hello, Grizz," Shepard replied with a polite nod. "Is Aria available?"

The self-titled queen of Omega had a definite flair for the dramatic, choosing to station herself several levels above the main floor of Afterlife. Bray, her right hand batarian, nodded them up the stairs. Aria was lounging on a large couch, looking utterly bored.

"Shepard," she purred, eying the commander with a raised brow. "Ah, and you've brought Archangel with you."

The threat was subtle, but Shepard refused to rise to it. Next to her, she felt Garrus stiffen slightly. A parlay with Aria was something Shepard found to be tedious, if not exhausting. The asari had always warily respected the commander, however. And their working relationship had proven fruitful.

"I trust that you are smart enough to realize the merc issues has long since been resolved, with limited damage to your station, Aria."

The asari appraised her, eyes flicking back and forth between the commander and Garrus. With a jerk of her head, she invited them to sit.

"Word on the street is you're having a batarian problem."

Shepard had long since stopped wondering how Aria had so much information. The asari had eyes and ears everywhere, it seemed. She settled lightly on the couch, Garrus sitting next to her, their knees touching. He allowed himself to visibly relax, knotting his hands behind his fringe.

"Several months ago, Archangel killed a batarian slaver named Kron Harga. His brother, Karn, is apparently upset, and ordered an assassination attempt while we were on Illium."

"And this is my concern, why?" Aria drawled, leaning back against the couch.

"I'm sure you know Harga uses Omega as a sort of vacation retreat between slaver missions," Shepard said with malice. "I came here to let you know I will find him, and I will kill him. Normally, I would ask your permission, since you consider Omega your territory. I understand that much. However, a crime was committed in Council space, and as a Spectre, it is my job to track the individual and bring him to justice."

"Omega is not Council space," Aria said defiantly, lips curving into a small smile.

Shepard sighed, leaning forward, and Garrus rested a hand on the small of her back. There was a tiny but astute headache building behind her forehead, and it had nothing to do with the club music and light show.

"Honestly, Aria? At this point, I could give a fuck less if Omega was geth space. Harga is a slaver. Working for the same people who came to Mindoir when I was sixteen, and abducted or killed everyone in my colony. The same people who beat and raped innocent women and children. Do you really want someone like that taking up space on your precious station?" Shepard leaned back, crossing her legs, pressing Garrus' hand into the back of the couch. His warmth was the only thing keeping her from launching across and strangling Aria until her eyes bled. The asari was purposely exploiting her anger as a source of entertainment.

"I suppose this is the part where I am suppose to gasp in horror and take pity on your cause?" Aria's voice was sarcastic, but her eyes glinted with amusement.

"No," Shepard said, lowering her voice. "This is the part where I tell you that I will need schematics of the entire station, and any information you or your crew has regarding Harga's location. My crew and I will be allowed to move freely anywhere on the station, and do whatever necessary to take Harga and his associates out. I'm not here to play games, T'Loak. If I wasn't feeling so generous, I could probably take this back to the Council. Kindly explain to them that the leader of Omega is obstructing justice, impeding the mission of a Spectre. I may not be the asari councilor's favorite human, but I wouldn't hesitate to bet you are not Councilor Tevos' favorite person, either. Our working relationship has been fairly fruitful for both of us, so far. I recall Grizz telling me several times, I tend to 'get shit done'."

It was Aria's turn to lean back, contemplating. Every encounter Shepard had with the asari was always a pissing match of sorts. Briefly, she wondered who or what had twisted Aria's trust to the point of abrasive paranoia. There had been no Plan B – if Aria refused, Shepard would have to follow through on her threat after taking Harga out, which was something she would like to avoid, especially because talking to Tevos was akin to banging her head repeatedly against a hard surface. Idiotic, painful, and pointless.

"Bray will provide you with the schematics. As much as I despise the thought of letting you get your way, I also don't approve of a known slaver dirtying my station. I'm sure Grizz could point you in the right direction; he is somewhat of a gossip." Aria made a dismissing motion with her hand. "You have free reign, but try not to blow up anything important. Keep that convict biotic of yours on a tight leash."

Shepard inwardly sighed and rose from the couch, pulling Garrus up with her.

"I'm glad we can continue working with each other, Aria," Shepard said cooly.

"Always a pleasure, Shepard," she drawled, leaning back against the couch and eying them suspiciously. "Oh, and by the way? When I gave you that little hint of advice about finding a nice man to keep you warm at night? I didn't think you would listen." Aria's eyes locked onto Garrus' armored figure. "Color me impressed."

With her back to the asari, Shepard rolled her eyes, accepting a download of schematics from Bray's omnitool onto her own. As they made their way down the stairs, Shepard could feel Garrus' amusement, and turned to give him a hard look.

"Love advice from Aria T'Loak?" he quipped. "Now I know you've made it in the galaxy."

"Can it, Vakarian," she shot back, eyeing up Grizz at the foot of the stairs. Aria's pale-plated turian lackey rocked back on his heels a bit in obvious amusement, cradling his assault rifle against his chest.

"Meeting went well, Commander?" Grizz asked, voice husky.

"Aria said you would know information regarding the whereabouts of Karn Harga," Shepard said. The loud music made it difficult for her voice to carry. Much to her dismay, she found herself leaning closer to Grizz to make herself heard. He certainly was not covering up his enjoyment of her proximity, letting his mandibles flare wide as he inhaled her scent.

"Karn Harga…" he tapped a finger against his mouth in contemplation. "Usually can find him sulking around the Kenzo district. Heard he's got himself a cozy warehouse converted into a headquarters. Really nice 'digs', you know what I mean?"

Shepard felt Garrus go still next to her. Grizz' eyes flicked warily to him and back to Shepard.

"Thank you," Shepard replied, reaching back to find Garrus' armored forearm, grasping it lightly. "I appreciate the help."

"Anything for you, Commander," Grizz said, tilting his head in amusement. "Hope to see you again real soon."

Shepard smiled tightly and pulled Garrus across the club and out through the doors into welcomed quiet. She spun him to face her, eyebrows raised.

"Kenzo district?" she asked. Garrus leaned his head back and sighed.

"Where Garm's supposed gun smuggling operation was, according to Sidonis," he supplied simply, eyes on the ceiling of Afterlife's entrance tunnel.

Shepard sucked in a sharp breath and tugged him closer to her, armor cracking against armor.

"So we blow the place up. We do have Jack, after all."

He looked down at her and smiled.

"Aria isn't going to like that."

"Aria can bite me," Shepard replied, baring teeth. Garrus chuckled and nudged his forehead against hers.

"That's my job."

Her laughter echoed behind them as they made their way out into the bowels of Omega.

* * *

The Kenzo district sprawled across an expanse of run down apartments, warehouses and dive bars. Omega's murky atmosphere lent an ominous feel to their mission as Shepard watched her team separate; Zaeed and Jack to an alleyway, Jacob's crew flanking the warehouse, and Shepard, Thane and Garrus on the roof of a storage building across from Harga's. The duo had donned their helmets, Garrus' Archangel blue armor scratched and burnt. Zaeed had dug up a few tear gas grenades, and Shepard knew enough to not risk wearing a breather in the vicinity of that blast.

Harga's warehouse was large, easily several hundred feet wide and across. Shepard had sent schematics to the entire team; the slaver had set up several "rooms" within the building, including what could only be described as holding pens. The thought made Shepard's skin crawl, and she inwardly cursed Aria for letting a blatant slave operation flourish on Omega. Garrus had laid a hand lightly on her shoulder, warm and reassuring through her armor. Now, she was crouched behind a ventilation shaft that was blowing hot air from out of the warehouse, thumbing the button of her tactical cloak.

"Security cams are down outside," came Kasumi's voice over their comm channel. The thief was in charge of disabling any security "issues" that arose. She had already encountered several encrypted doors, as well as a rudimentary laser system along the perimeter of the building, which she had laughingly flipped and ducked her way through to the control panel, shutting it down with ease.

"These bleedin' air shafts are givin' me back cramps," Zaeed huffed. He and Jack were entering from the very back of the warehouse, laying detonation charges as they went.

"Assault team is in position with a clear view of the choke point," Jacob said, sounding resolute. He and his team were positioned just inside the warehouse below Shepard, Thane and Garrus, waiting to force their way in. To her right, the drell was kneeling on the edge of the roof, the picture of calm. The muzzle of his sniper glinted ominously in the dim light. There was about two hundred feet between their warehouse and Harga's, with little to no cover for the assault team. The snipers would be providing protection as Jack and Zaeed's fireworks show pushed the slavers out of the building.

"Jack," Shepard asked softly, "how goes it?"

The biotic opened her comm channel and chuckled. "This place is going to be more lit than a goddamn Fourth of July party."

"Darn, and I forgot to bring the beer and brats," Shepard quipped back, tilting her head up to look at Garrus. The Independence Day reference was lost on the turian, and he shook his helmeted head in indignation.

"Eh, we're jus' gate crashin' anyway," Zaeed said. "Awf'ly fuckin' rude of 'em not to invite us in the firs' place."

"I agree, Missoni. Shall we teach them a lesson?" Shepard's voice was light, but she reached behind to unclip her Widow from her back, grip tight on the stock.

"With pleasure, Shep," Jack growled. Beside the commander, Garrus was extending his new toy, running a hand lovingly along the muzzle. The image of his hand running along black metal lit her nerves on fire, desire pooling low in her belly. She shook her head to focus, and he knelt beside Shepard, on her right, always on her right. She could feel him coiling tightly with excitement, and flipped the safety of her gun off.

"Light 'em up, Jack."

A resounding explosion answered, shaking their building.

"Assault team be ready," Shepard said, surveying the front of the warehouse through her thermal scope. Another explosion rocked the street below, and the unmistakable greens and yellows of smoke flickered across her crosshairs.

"Tha's right, ya fucks!" Zaeed yelled over the comm channel. Jack's manic laughing peppered the background as she detonated another charge.

"They're having entirely too much fun," Garrus mused.

"I'm quite jealous," Shepard shot back playfully. A humanoid figure emerged from the warehouse door in a blur of orange and red light on her scope. "Oh look! They've come out to play."

Her finger pressed the trigger with ease, and the target's head exploded in a shower of gore. More slavers were pouring out the door now, limited by the size of the opening.

"Assault team, go!" Shepard yelled, taking out another target.

Jacob and his company poured out of the neighboring building, guns blazing. Their armor held biological markers, making them appear white on her scope to avoid target confusion. The crack of Thane's rifle claimed another victim, and Shepard saw the unmistakable chuff of biotic energy that was Samara, throwing several slavers back against the wall. Garrus was laughing between each shot, clearly enjoying his new toy. Harga's men were pouring out of the building now, only to be mowed down by the assault team and snipers. Grunt was roaring a battle challenge, spraying shotgun fire and physically plowing over anyone that got in his way.

"Shep, you better get in here." Jack's voice sounded wary. "We made a mess, but there's…there's slaves. In cages."

Shepard's stomach dropped to her feet.

"There's still too many out front," she growled in reply, reveling in the sight of her team decimating the slavers.

"I'll make you a hole."

"What does she mean, 'make you a hole'?" Garrus asked, humming along to a song playing in his earpiece.

In answer, another explosion rocked through the warehouse, this time blowing a hole in the roof. Shepard stood swiftly, compressing her rifle and hooking it to her back.

"Jack, get up here and lift me over the gap."

"Aye aye, cap'n!"

"Thane, keep covering the assault team. Archangel, you're with me."

Garrus pressed off another shot, whooped in celebration, then stood and placed his rifle in its place over his shoulder. "Right behind you."

Across from the building they stood on, smoke still poured from the tear in the roof, and Jack's lanky figured emerged, sprinting headlong to the edge.

"You're going to need to get a running start and jump," Jack said over their comm. "I'll lift you across."

Garrus made a slightly strangled noise in the back of his throat, and Shepard peered over her shoulder at him. The polarized face of his mask left his features invisible, but his body language hummed of tension. Shepard tabbed their private channel.

"I've always wanted to learn how to fly," she said softly, lacing her voice with affection and reassurance.

"If Jack drops me, I'll remove her tattoos the hard way." His voice sounded light, but his subvocals cracked with apprehension.

"You're Archangel. You shouldn't be afraid of flying." She teetered at the edge of the roof, eyeing the span of empty space and a twenty foot drop. Then, steeling herself, she backed up several steps and rolled her shoulders. "Ready, Jack?"

"Come at me, bro!" she yelled, body swirling with blue biotic energy.

Shepard took a deep, steadying breath, and sprinted to the edge of the roof, launching herself across the gap with as much strength as she could muster. Cerberus cybernetics lent an extra amount of force to her jump, and she managed to cross at least forty feet. A cloud of biotic energy caught her her at the apex of her leap, hurling her weightlessly the rest of the way. She landed gracefully next to Jack, panting slightly from adrenaline and utter joy.

"Thanks," Shepard said, and clapped Jack on the back. "Make sure you don't drop him. I need him happy and conscious for this mission, and I have a feeling crashing him twenty feet down on his head would maybe piss him off?"

Jack snorted. "Ya ready, Archangel?"

"As I'll ever be," came his gruff reply. With graceful, ground-eating strides, he loped to the edge of the roof and jumped, clearing twice the distance Shepard had before Jack's biotics lashed out to pull him the rest of the way across. His feet hit the warehouse roof hard, and he tipped forward, crashing into Shepard. She gripped his forearms and steadied him.

"I've come to the conclusion that I don't like flying," Garrus quipped, leaning to butt his helmeted forehead against Shepard's playfully. She giggled at the public display of affection, slapping him on an armored shoulder.

"It wasn't that bad," she retorted, striding to the smoking hole Jack had torn. Several metal shipping crates were stacked in stunted towers, and Shepard dropped down onto one, surveying the room. It had obviously been used for storage, more crates and boxes piled haphazardly against the walls. She leaped to the floor, followed closely by Garrus and Jack.

"The holding rooms are through that door," Jack pointed, voice heavy. She lead the way through a door that had clearly been blown open, into a lengthy hallway lined with barred gates. Shepard approached the nearest, peering into the gloom. Huddled together in a mass of soiled flesh were at least twenty humans, bodies bare. The room had a low ceiling, preventing any of them from standing up fully, leaving them to squat or lay in their own filth. Their heads had been shorn down to the scalp, and each wore a collar of metal. Bile rose in the back of Shepard's throat, and she was silently thankful for her helmet's breather. Wary eyes rheumy with exhaustion and defeat stared up at her, but they didn't dare speak. The constraints on their necks were electrified, like a dog's shock collar. Garrus' presence was a solid reassurance behind her, and she leaned forward, studying the barred door.

"Can you get them out of here?" she asked Jack, turning to stare at the biotic. Jack's face was ghostly white and her skin was pulled tight in a grimace, fists clenched at her sides and crackles of energy eddying around her form.

"I can try pulling the bars off their hinges," she answered tightly, running a hand over her own bare scalp. Jack had been a member of a cult at one point in her life, but upon leaving had retained the shorn haircut. Something akin to shame flashed in her eyes. "But the gates are encrypted, and I have no idea where the control room is."

"Do what you can. See if you can get Kasumi in here to decrypt it. Also, get Zaeed in here and have him escort these people out through the side door. I'm going to find Harga."

Jack nodded sharply. "The hallway leads to a break room of sorts. Through there are several offices and bunks. We came in through the 'employee lounge', where they were playing cards. Blew a hole right through the floor."

Shepard hurried down the hall, ignoring the tight feeling of her spine as she passed dozens of holding pens. Garrus was on her heels, assault rifle out and cradled against his chest. Through another doorway to a room filled with tables, a cyro unit, and cabinets. Chairs were strewn everywhere, along with remnants of food. Several dead bodies littered the floor, and a hole gaped open near the back of the room.

"Joker," Shepard called over her comm.

"Oh hey, Commander," came the pilots voice in answer. "I'm just hangin' out, taking the scenic way around. Docking stations look clear; no sign of a batarian ship. Manifest says Harga's boat set sail two days ago for another 'shipment', and he's here overseeing the sale of his 'merchandise'. There's no way he's escaping the station."

"Good. Get over here. I'm going to need Chakwas, so pick her up on your way. Tell her to bring as much water and blankets as she can manage."

The open comm channel hummed for a minute before Joker answered, more quietly this time. "Aye, aye, Commander."

"Now," she said, turning to look at Garrus. "Where would Harga be?"

Garrus tapped a ponderous finger against the side of his helmet. "All the way at the back of the building, most likely. Big 'office', probably surrounded by a few bed slaves."

"Jacob, sitrep?"

"Pretty much clear out here, Commander," he replied, voice sounding winded but exuberant. "Just mopping up what's left. A few surrendered, so we have them shackled and waiting."

"Good. Send Grunt and Samara around back. I need a team to flank the building in case Harga decides to escape out the back door."

"Got it."

Shepard and Garrus pushed forward, stepping around the hole to duck through another blasted door into a bunkroom.

"Biosigns indicate there are some stragglers through the next door," Garrus whispered, gesturing with his rifle. "Five hostiles."

"Cover me," Shepard replied, thumbing her tactical cloak, her form shimmering into invisibility. She crept forward, peering around the doorframe into what looked like another storage room. Several slavers were huddled behind crates, waiting to ambush whoever came through. Silently, Shepard made her way down the middle of the room, walking past the unsuspecting men to the opposite door. Somewhere at the aft of the building, another explosion went off, startling the cowering batarians. She unclipped a gas grenade, pulled the pin and sent it underhand into the middle of the room. It landed with a metallic bounce and promptly exploded, filling the area with a thick orange mist. Several shouts echoed off the walls as the men scrambled to the doorways, only to be met by the butt of Garrus' rifle.

"Holy fuck! It's Archangel!" one of them yelled, before being sent flying back by a concussive shot. Shepard had pulled out her pistol, and screwed the silencer onto the end. Garrus sent the men clambering back towards her, and she picked them off from the cover of her tactical cloak. Three were dead by the time he had sauntered to her side of the room, and two were screaming in pain and rubbing viciously at their eyes, courtesy of the tear gas. Shepard shimmered into view and pistol-whipped the closest slaver across the face.

"Where the fuck is Harga?" she growled, kneeling to grasp the batarian by the front of his armor. A gash had opened across his wide forehead, gushing orange-red blood. Four eyes blinked furiously, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"He – he's got a safe room," the slaver gasped, clawing at the hand that held him in place. Shepard pistol-whipped him again, harder.

"Where is it?"

The batarian was barely clinging to consciousness, and she shook him.

"All the way…back. Back of the building. 'Sgot two-foot thick walls. Uses it as a place to keep his money. He ran in there when the place started exploding."

Shepard peered up at Garrus, who had his foot on the neck of the other conscious batarian. He nodded and tabbed his comm. "Kasumi."

"Here," she replied lightly.

"Did you manage to get those gates open?"

The thief chuckled grimly. "Yes. Zaeed and Jack are escorting the packages out through a side…hole."

"We need you up here with us. Harga's got himself a nice little panic room, and we unfortunately won't be able to blast our way through it."

"Be there in just a sec!"

Shepard turned back to the batarian she was questioning. "I'm going to let you live, since you were so generous at providing us with information. But know this: I will make sure you rot in prison for what you've done here. And if for some reason you escape? I will find you, and flay you alive with a dull blade."

Whether from his head wound or fear, the batarian promptly lost consciousness, and Shepard threw him to the floor in disgust. "Cuff him."

Garrus procured a pair of shackles, and secured the two remaining slavers, shoving them up against a wall where their heads lolled onto each others shoulders. Kasumi came jogging lightly into the room, smiling through her clear breather.

"You two are so dangerous together," she quipped, studying the three dead bodies sprawled across the floor. "Now, where's this unbreakable room?"

The trio stepped through the doorway to yet another hall, which ended in a triple-encrypted door. Kasumi muttered to herself as she worked to decode it.

"This isn't batarian work," she said, typing on her omnitool as the door lock pulsed red. "This is some serious tech. Nothing I can't handle, of course, but someone paid the big bucks for salarian security algorithms."

"Slaving is a profitable business," Shepard said darkly, running a thumb along the handle of an extremely impressive knife tucked into her belt. The commander was almost vibrating with controlled violence, and he laid a hand on the small of her back, applying pressure so she could feel it through her armor.

"Got it," Kasumi said, stepping back as the door pulsed yellow then green. "I don't have schematics for this room, Shep."

The commander shook her head and smiled behind her polarized facemask. "Going in blind. What's new? Archangel, with me. Kasumi, cloak and cover us. If there are any slaves in here, pull them out as quickly as you can. I don't want them to be caught in cross fire."

The thief nodded once and disappeared beneath her tactical cloak.

Shepard drew her pistol from its place on her hip, and slid an incendiary heat sink into place.

"You ready, Archangel?"

"As I'll ever be, Ahyoka," he answered, and palmed the door open before ducking back behind the frame for cover.

Almost immediately, shots rang out in staccato as the duo hugged the doorframe tightly. Garrus unhooked a flashbang from the mag strip on his arm and threw it into the room, turning his face against the flare.

"Go!" he yelled, and dove into the room, Shepard at his side. Harga's chamber was twenty feet by twenty feet square, a huge safe encompassing the entire back wall. In front of it was a massive desk, which had been tipped on its side to provide cover. Harga cowered behind it, four eyes blinking furiously as he tried to adjust against the flashbang assault. He had a human female in front of him, draped in a thin gold dress, her blonde hair in a ratted nest. One hand was clenched around her throat, above the metal collar. The other had a pistol pressed against her temple.

"Drop her," Garrus' voice grated. Anger was flaring up into his chest, driving adrenaline into his bloodstream.

"The fuck I will!" Harga shouted back, spitting in their general direction. "I paid good money for this bitch, an' for this warehouse. Those slaves are my property."

"You don't own shit, Harga. Drop the girl, and the gun, and you'll walk out of here alive."

"Oh fuck you, Archangel. You're supposed to be dead. Paid good money to make sure of that, too."

"I guess that proves you can't buy everything," Garrus growled, stepping further into the room.

"I'll get the girl," Kasumi whispered over their helmet comms, and Shepard felt the thief slip past her, invisible. "Keep him talking."

"An' who the fuck are you?" Harga asked, nodding at Shepard. "All buttoned up in that fancy armor, but I can still see you've got tits under that."

"You really are a piece of work, aren't you?" Shepard asked lightly, hand clutching her pistol. "You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

The batarian growled and pressed the muzzle of his gun harder against the girl's temple, eliciting the faintest of whimpers from her.

"You won' be sayin' that with my dick in your mouth. Bet you got some pretty lips, girlie. Take off your helmet so I can take a peek."

Shepard saw the shimmer that was Kasumi sidle up next to Harga, and the woman grabbed the slaver's pistol and jerked his arm back hard, unbalancing him. The pistol discharged, bullet lodging harmlessly in the ceiling as the slave girl shrieked and threw herself towards the door.

"Kasumi!" Shepard yelled, shoving the blonde girl behind her. The thief wrestled the pistol away from Harga, who was having difficulty fighting an invisible target, struggling to free his hands. Kasumi whipped him across the face with his own gun, and he grunted, clutching his face in pain. Garrus grabbed the slave girl and tucked her against the wall behind him.

"Stay there. Don't move." She nodded furiously, eyes wide in terror. Garrus moved forward, unlatching his helmet and throwing it to the side so he had an unhindered view. Kasumi had uncloaked and was stepping away from Harga, pistol pointed at his face. The batarian roared in fury and pain and vaulted over the upturned desk towards Shepard.

Garrus hadn't noticed his commander slip her knife from its place on her belt. With inhuman speed, blade flashing, she lept towards the slaver. Harga faltered at the sight of the weapon, hesitating just enough to let Shepard swing and slam the handle of the knife across his face, knocking him to the side. He bent over, clutching at his head, and Shepard crouched and rammed the blade up into Harga's chest. His kinetic shields flickered and died, and the spear slipped in between a soft chink in his armor. He grunted at the impact, clutching helplessly at the shaft imbedded in his stomach. But Shepard wasn't done yet. She shoved harder, forcing him back and impaling him to the wooden top of his upturned desk.

"Kasumi," Shepard growled not taking her eyes off of her target. "Get the girl out of here. Take her out to Jacob's team. Chakwas should be there."

"No," came a quiet voice from the door. The battered slave rose unsteadily to her feet and walked towards Shepard. "I want to watch him die."

Shepard eyed the girl through her facemask. The blonde girl was shaking with fear, but her eyes had lost the terror, and instead burned with rage. Kasumi was hovering next to her, and nodded once. Shepard unlatched her helmet and removed it, letting her braid fall heavily over her shoulder, and handed it to Garrus.

"You fuckin' bitch," Harga gasped, hands still straining to pull the spear from his abdomen. "I'll kill you. I'll kill you all."

Shepard stepped forward and crouched down close to Harga's face. Her eyes were pools of molten silver against the black of her war paint, and she pulled her teeth back in a vicious smile.

"I want to thank you, Harga, for letting me test out my new toy," she crooned, almost lovingly. "Some may think that knives are impractical in these modern times, but I like to think that anything can be adjusted to suit your needs. This here? The shaft is a titanium alloy. Incredibly light, but incredibly durable. The blade? You may have guessed by now that it's polonium. Yeah, that's probably why you're feeling a little…tingly. You see, I know quite a bit about batarian anatomy." She reached out and ran a hand down the side of Harga's face. "In my time slaughtering your people, I've learned that your heart is on the right side of your body, opposite a human. So, naturally, I avoided that, and opted instead for the space between your lungs. I think I was lucky and missed the brachial artery, but we'll know soon enough. I bet your hardsuit is dispensing medigel as we speak, trying to stop the bleeding. Essentially, it's keeping you alive long enough for me to have a little chat with you." She stood and pulled a switchblade from a pocket in her armor, flicking it open. Harga raised his head, panting, four eyes wide.

"I know you," he gasped.

"Yes, I'm sure you do. You may know me as the Butcher of Torfan, or as Commander Shepard, Hero of the Citadel. You also know my mate, who was responsible for the death of your brother. Archangel?"

Garrus handed Shepard's helmet to Kasumi, and sauntered over to stand next to the commander.

"Lizard-fucker," Harga spat, straining against the spear. Garrus chuckled lightly and laid a hand on Shepard's shoulder.

"That's no way to treat a lady, Harga." His tone was dark, rasping out through his teeth in dual tones that spoke of death and revenge. The hatred he'd felt when he killed Kron Harga was fresh in his mind at the sight of the slaver's brother. "In fact, that's what I told your brother as I killed him. I walked in on him raping several of his bed slaves. By the time my crew was finished with his, it was just him left. He thought he could fight me, but I introduced him to the butt of my rifle." He bared his teeth in a malicious smile. "I believe it broke several bones in his face. The entire time he was still screaming about the nasty things he would do to my mother, so I strapped him up against a crate, and using this handy pistol here." He thumbed a gun resting on his hip with a loving caress. "I shot him. In both arms, and both legs. He was still alive, of course, so I made sure he felt it. I saved the shot to his heart for last. Funny thing about batarians; your lungs are different from a turians or a humans. You can function with just one. So after I had shot both of his, and he was suffocating in his own blood, I switched over to incendiary ammo, and shot him in the heart." Garrus knelt and leaned close to the batarian's face, eyes glinting with malevolence. Harga shrank back at the sight of the scarred turian's teeth so close to him. "Did I mention the crate I strapped him to was filled with a flammable chemical? That incendiary ammo was very helpful in lighting his funeral pyre." He stood and nipped Shepard lightly on the neck, a display of possession and acceptance. Her revenge was his revenge.

Harga's eyes were clouding, and he tried to spit in their general direction. Shepard slapped him backhanded across the face.

"You said you know me," she growled, and moved to unclasp Harga's lower body armor. "Do you remember me from Mindoir?"

The batarian stilled his struggling and narrowed all four eyes at her.

"Mindoir?"

"Yes, Mindoir." The malice in Shepard's voice was heavy, and a chill ran down Garrus' spine. "Funny thing. I dug a little. Did a little research into just who you are, Harga. Sixteen years ago, you came to my colony and burned it to the ground. I was there. I was the only one that survived. I killed one of your men with a handmade bow and arrow." She threw his hip guards and codpiece across the room, revealing a black undersuit.

"Ah, yes," Harga growled. "I should have recognized the paint. That must 'ave been your mother, eh?" He gave a watery chuckle. "I always had a thing for the dark-skinned humans. Bruises never showed up as easily, so we could do whatever we liked with 'em before they were sold." He grinned, licking his lips. "Yeah. I remember your mother. Or rather, I remember her slick cunt wrapped around my dick."

Shepard lashed out, knife in hand, and backhanded him across the face again, this time opening a gash from cheek to cheek. Harga grunted in pain and reeled his head back.

"Oh, didn't like that, did ya?" he asked maliciously, wound bleeding freely into his mouth. "Your mother seemed to like it when I decided to add my rifle into the mix. Make her scream real good. Sure tore up her cunt with the muzzle, though. It's a damn shame she bled out as I fucked her. I always liked them lively."

Behind them, Kasumi gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. Garrus let out a rolling growl, and the slave girl, silent until now, took a step back, whimpering. Shepard remained motionless, never letting her eyes leave Harga's. Garrus felt the subtle shift in her demeanor; there was no stopping her now. Bloodlust had overtaken her, the need for revenge driving every movement. She was precise, determined and deadly, tension and anger rolling off her in waves. He half expected her to end the slaver right then and there, but Shepard tilted her head to the side, pulling her lips back from her teeth in a macabre smile. Garrus let out a soft rumble of encouragement. This revenge was necessary. This revenge was cathartic and sixteen years old, left to fester and corrode whatever semblance of happiness Shepard had.

"You sure like to talk about your dick a lot," she said, pulling off her gloves with her teeth and handing them to Garrus. Her knife glinted in the light of the safe room. "I'm starting to think you have an unhealthy obsession with it." She deftly slid the blade along the exposed part of his undersuit, tearing the material and exposing skin. "The only way to break an obsession is to part ways with the object."

With an expert flick, Shepard separated Harga's prized possession from his body, and the batarian screamed. The commander stood and wiped her knife along one of Harga's gloves, cleaning the blade of orange-red blood. The batarian continued to scream, clutching at the knife still embedded in his chest, eyes rolling in the back of his head.

"I wish I could kill you a million times over, Karn Harga," Shepard said quietly, watching the slaver bleed out onto the floor of his panic room. "But let's just say that was for my mother, and my people."

She turned to face her teammates, flicking the switchblade closed and stashing it.

"Let's get out of here. I want to blow this place sky-high."

Garrus handed her gloves back to her, and nudged his forehead gently against hers. She smiled back at him, tucking a hand between his scarred jaw and mandible, reveling in the feeling of blistering hot flesh. The pride he felt bubbling up in his chest threatened to consume him. She pulled her gloves onto her hands using her teeth, and as an afterthought, jerked her knife out of Harga's now lifeless body, thumbing the button to collapse it. He tumbled to the floor in a pool of coagulating blood, and Shepard sneered down at him. She felt a figure pad up beside her, and turned to see the slave girl, barefoot, clutching her tattered dress to keep it from being bloodied. She gazed at the supine form of Harga, and promptly spit on his body.

"You have made him pay for his sins," she said in a quiet but lovely voice. "I am thankful."

Kasumi padded to the girl's side and laid a hand lightly on her arm. "We have a doctor, and food and water for you."

The girl nodded, and followed Kasumi out of the panic room.

Shepard took one last look at Harga, face grim.

"It feels right, what I did," she said to Garrus.

"You did what was necessary," he replied. "Remind me to never, ever piss you off. That's a big ass knife."

She slapped him on the chest, rising up on her tiptoes to nip at his neck.

"Let this be a lesson to you then."

His hearty chuckle warmed her chest, and she allowed herself to feel the first tendrils of exultation spread through her body.

* * *

Joker was overseeing the distribution of water bottles to the rescued slaves alongside Miranda, as a line formed in front of Chakwas and Mordin. The doctors were running omnitool scans over each rescuee, checking vitals and skin lesions, handing out medigel when necessary. Samara and Jacob were gently removing collars and chucking them through the front door of the warehouse. Shepard and Garrus stepped out from the side of the building to Jack and Zaheed unpacking a massive amount of explosives, each whistling some jaunty song.

"You to get along so well when pyrotechnics are involved," Shepard quipped, pulling a can of contact explosive from Jack's bag.

"I was jus' tellin' the lady 'bout the time I blew up some idiot politician's mansion," Zaeed replied, twisting together a remote detonator. "Guess he fucked someone's wife or somethin', and the angry bastard wanted him dead in a very dramatic fashion. We packed the basemen' of that place fuller'n a whore's mouth. Had to detonate it from a mile away. Real big 'boom'." The mercenary chuckled and gave Shepard and Garrus a lopsided smile.

"We don't need quite that caliber of a pyrotechnic show," the commander replied, handing the can of contact spray to Jack.

"Oh, we've got this place filled enough to level it," the biotic woman said, pulling the cap off and stepping up to the wall. "We can even watch it go boom without binoculars."

She took the contact explosive and began spraying it in a deliberate fashion, large loops and flourishes across the metal side of the building. Shepard cocked her head and watched Jack work, doubling over in laughter as she finished. A large, prominent "FUCK YOU" was written in surprisingly neat cursive like explosive graffiti. Shepard raised her omnitool and took a picture of it.

"I'm saving this forever, Jack," she said, giving the biotic a wide smile. Next to her, Garrus was shaking his head and chuckling. "You're the best."

"Aw don't get all sappy and shit on me, Shep," the woman replied, wiping her hands on her thighs. "Now let's wipe this fuckin' place off the map."

Shepard and Garrus lead the two pyromaniacs to the front of the warehouse where the rest of the team was assisting with the rescued slaves. At the sight of Shepard and Garrus, several people cheered.

"We need to get back about a block," she called to the crowd, gesturing behind her. "Our local fireworks crew has quite the show planned for you!"

The hoard of people - 57 slaves in all - along with the Normandy crew, threaded their way along an alley, ducking behind the neighboring building. Several chose to climb ladders to the roof along with Shepard, Garrus, Kasumi, Jack and Zaeed.

"Stay down," the commander said, and nodded towards Zaeed. The mercenary flipped the cap of the detonator open and cracked the biggest smile Shepard had seen on his face yet.

"Fire in tha hole!"

The resulting explosion shook the street and surrounding buildings, a mushroom cloud of flames and choking smoke rising into Omega's murky atmosphere. True to their word, several large, blooming fireworks shot up from the smoldering ruin, bursting in vibrant shades of reds and purples. There were resounding whoops and trills of happiness from the crowd below. Shepard shouted along with them, and felt herself bubbling with pure happiness.

"Aria is going to be pissed," Jack said, smirking, her teeth flashing in the flames from the burning warehouse.

"Aria can go fuck herself," Shepard replied, laughing.


	14. Interlude: Garrus on the Citadel

**Author's note**: I am back, and hopefully updating more regularly. This is a pretty short filler setting up some content for the next chapter I have in the works. I said a while back that this story would be wrapping up in a few chapters. Well, I've been having way too much fun writing it, so I'm not making any promises as to when it will for sure end. That being said, I have begun writing chapters for a post ME3 fic featuring my Shakarian. Those will be posted after I wrap up this fic and _Hiraeth_, but I may open up a few polls to ask readers what they would like to see happen to Garrus and Ayhoka after the reapers have been defeated.

Special thanks to VeelsMe for letting me bounce a continuous stream of ideas at you. Between my three fics, I have so many things rattling around in my head that I need a second opinion to sort them all out. Also, thank you to everyone who has read, favorited and followed this story. It has far surpassed the amount of attention I thought it would get, and I hope I continue to write material that is captivating and keeps you reading.

* * *

_He scrubbed a hand over his face and threw the data pad down in frustration. The fourth murder case that had come across his desk in a month, this one involving, of all things, a hanar prostitute and a volus with a suit breach. Messy, and just downright bizarre. It had been months of paperwork; backlogged cases that had been swept under the rug in the chaos that was the Battle of the Citadel, that greeted him when he returned to C-Sec._

_The Citadel was well on its way towards recovery from Sovereign's crash landing. The Presidium, of course, had been the first area to be restored to its original splendor, and the Coucil was once again ensconced in their bubble of ignorance-fueled politics. Two months had passed since Garrus disembarked from the _Normandy_, and almost every day he was in communication with some reporter or another. He and Anderson had sat down in the spirit of cooperation; humans and turians beginning to develop a mutual respect for each other. Unfortunately, the idea never progressed past the doors of Anderson's sparse office._

_There was a fine line being toed in the aftermath of Sovereign's defeat. Shepard and Anderson had spared the Council at the expense of thousands of human lives. Appointing the admiral as the new human Councilor was another Shepard decision, one that grated on the older man's nerves. Garrus could tell he was growing increasingly frustrated with the ongoing politics; as a career military man, sitting behind a desk bashing heads with the Council may be his own personal hell. But, there was an obvious importance to it, once that Garrus had seen Shepard express to Anderson as they shook hands at her departure. There was a bigger threat looming in dark space._

_Two months had passed since he had walked out of the airlock and into the recycled air of the Citadel docking bay. Two months since he had said his goodbyes to the crew who had fought alongside him. Two months since he had stuttered his way through a thank you to Shepard, clasping her small hand in his large one and shaking his head, knowing his work at C-Sec would pale in comparison to what they had accomplished together on the _Normandy_. She had sent him off with a data pad. One that contained a letter of recommendation, addressed to the turian Councilor, stating Officer Garrus Vakarian, C-Sec, would make a fine Spectre candidate, having demonstrated valor, composure and intelligence in the face of great danger. It was signed by one Commander Lana A. Shepard, Spectre. _

_He had presented it, with a subtle flourish, to Councilor Sparatus, who gave him a tight grin and a forearm clasp. The paperwork had been processed, and he was waiting on yet more forms to be sent to him, solidifying his intention on participating as an official Spectre candidate. The waiting was made slightly easier by how damn _busy_ he was, both with his C-Sec work, and ensuring the Council wouldn't soon forget the reaper threat. _

_In his office, Garrus checked his omnitool messages, scrolling through several older ones, pinged to him when the _Normandy_ had come in range of a comm buoy. He had kept up regular correspondence with several of his former crewmembers, mainly Tali and Shepard. Tali had returned to the Flotilla, having successfully completed her Pilgrimage. Wrex was back on Tuchanka. Garrus had entertained the idea of going back to Palaven for all of ten minutes before Captain Bailey had clapped him on the shoulder and handed him a stack of datapads of backlogged casework. After the months of chasing down Saren, a desk job was a vacation, of sorts._

_He had fit seamlessly back into his old life, going through the daily motions, working extra hours, always keeping an eye on where the _Normandy_ was or had been. If anyone had asked if he was happy being back at C-Sec, he would have given them a small smile and a nod. In reality, the work was a way of floating on the surface, bobbing in the riptide that had been the glory and honor of fighting with Shepard. It was difficult to fall asleep at night without the distinct hum of ship engines, and the constant hustle of Citadel life was almost too much compared to the easy routine he had established on Shepard's ship. He had wanted to stay, but hadn't been quite brave enough to ask. And his commander had been so earnest in sending him back so he could once again try for Spectre candidacy._

_"When this is over, I'm going to need people I trust by my side, Garrus," she said as they both leaned against the bar, sipping species-appropriate alcohol, their crewmates swirling and chattering around them. "I need people within the Council, but outside its power. People who will do whatever it takes. The Council hasn't worked for a long time now. Times are changing, and they're still stuck in their ways. I need people I can trust. And if sending you back to C-Sec insures that I can get you through Spectre training, then that's what I'll do." She had given a rueful wink over the rim of her glass, face still caked in the dirt and gore from fighting Saren._

_Weeks went by without any news, until messages began trickling in. The _Normandy _ran silent a majority of the time. Tali was a more regular correspondence, but her messages were lacking the substance that he was searching for. Shepard's were what kept him afloat; descriptions of the hoards of geth they had been tracking down, the goings on of the crew. While the messages were few and far between, they were lengthy, as if she had taken the time to actually sit down and write to him. And that in itself was flattering. He chided himself for the almost obsessive need he felt for those messages._

_Hours later, he found himself back at his small apartment, feet up on the coffee table with a turian brandy in hand. The extranet screen on the wall was turned low, playing the nightly newscast. The Council had taken a decidedly ignorant standpoint in regards to the reapers, and Garrus had spent hours arguing with Councilor Sparatus. A small but astute headache was building between his eyes. Out of habit, he checked his omnitool for new messages, only to be interrupted by a knock at his door._

_He froze, his finger hovering just over the interface of his omnitool. The apartment he was renting was only known to a few people. Three or four thoughts collided in his mind before he pushed himself up from the couch and answered the door._

_Anderson stood on the threshold, his hands clasped behind his back. It took Garrus about three seconds to recognize the admiral wasn't wearing his Councilor's uniform, but instead was clad in the sharp creases of his Alliance dress blues. Garrus wasn't particularly adept at reading human facial expressions, but the deadened look in Anderson's eyes hit him like a punch in the gut._

_"No." Garrus shook his head and took a step backward, his spurs catching on his reclining chair, taking his feet out from under him. He landed in a heap on the seat, eyes squeezed shut against the light pouring in from the open door. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "No."_

_The admiral hung his head. "I'm sorry, Garrus," he said, voice nothing more than a shaky whisper. "I'm sorry. But I didn't want you to find out any other way."_

_The turian leaned his head back. His fists were clenching and unclenching in his lap, ungloved talons digging into his palms. "How."_

_"Officially?" Anderson said, stepping into the small apartment and letting the door snick closed behind him. "A geth cruiser. She got everyone to the escape pods. Unofficially, the ship signatures along with testimony from the crew match no known ship. Joker believes it was reaper related."_

_Garrus snorted, a grating sound. "So that's what I'm going to be hearing in approximately fifteen minutes, when the story breaks? That a 'geth cruiser' took down the _Normandy?_ That the best pilot in the galaxy wasn't able to outrun a bunch of AI's? That the Hero of the Citadel was killed by _geth_?" His voice was a rasp, and he stood abruptly, knocking the chair over. "Have the past few months taught you people nothing? No matter if you pretend the reapers are real or not, they're still coming. And now you plan on tarnishing the memory of the one person who saved your asses?" His voice was rising, but he didn't care. The blood pounding in his ears buoyed him as he panted in stress. "She deserved better! Hell, I thought you of all people would stand behind her!" He raked his hands across his fringe, walking in a ragged line across the apartment. Anderson watched him pace through sad eyes, his mouth twisted down at the corners. _

_"Garrus, you know I believed her. But one person standing behind her isn't enough to change the rest of the Council's collective decision."_

_Garrus stopped abruptly and swung his head to look at the admiral. "I won't let you tarnish her reputation over fucking politics, Anderson," he growled. "I'll make sure that every reporter I talk to knows the _real_ truth."_

_Anderson tipped his chin up and leveled his gaze on Garrus. "You're not a Spectre yet, boy. It would do you good to remember that. Don't go in, guns blazing, when you don't have protection from the consequences."_

_Garrus let another growl escape through his clenched teeth. The floor of his apartment was tilting underneath him, threatening to send him sprawling on the floor. His vision greyed at the edges as he fought to control his breathing. "Don't do this, Anderson. Don't spit on her memory. Don't ruin everything she was working for."_

_"She knew the risks, Garrus. She was an Alliance marine, first and foremost. She died a hero, and I'll make sure everyone knows that she saved the lives of almost all her crew, that her death was not in vain."_

_"That's not good enough!" he shouted, hands waving violently in the air above his head. "Pretty, flowered words to make the public and the politicians happy. What happens when the reapers come for Earth, David? What happens when your supply lines dwindle down to nothing within days, because you weren't prepared? What happens when _billions_ die because a couple Councilors decided to ignore all the warnings?" He snapped his teeth together. "You'd make her a pariah, before you told everyone the truth. The Alliance's favorite scapegoat since the fucking Skyllian Blitz."_

_Anderson shook his head and frowned deeper. "My hands are tied, Garrus. I'm sorry."_

_The turian hissed, a primal sound that made the hairs on the back of Anderson's neck stand up. Garrus pointed a shaking finger towards the door, talon inches from the admiral's face. "Leave." _

_Anderson raised his hands, palms out, in defense. "Garrus-"_

_"I said leave!" he shouted, his voice ringing off the empty walls. "Go and tell the rest of the galaxy that the best individual I knew is dead. And make sure you tell them _exactly_ what the Council wants you to say."_

_Anderson dropped his hands to his side with a slap, and turned on his heel, palming the door open. He hovered on the threshold, and turned his head slightly, gazing out at the busy Citadel traffic in the distance. "For what it's worth, I loved her like a daughter. And I would have been more than happy to see her live a long and happy life. She loved her job. And she loved her crew. You especially." He stepped through the door and it snicked shut behind him. _

_Garrus stood in the middle of his apartment; the extranet counsel a soft buzz of background noise as the reality of Shepard's death settled on his shoulders like a leaden blanket. He tried to take a step forward, to will is feet to move, but the floor tilted up to meet him. His knees protested as they hit the carpet. Keening softly, he clutched his head in his hands and mourned the loss of his commander. _


	15. Chapter XIII

The Citadel rarely changed.

Garrus sighed as he lounged on a bench overlooking a reservoir. The _Normandy_ had been docked for a few hours; Shepard descending the gangway sans armor, clad in civilian clothes. It made the back of his neck itch to think of her so vulnerable, but she had assured him she was safer that way. The rational part of his mind knew she was correct. She had a way of disappearing into a crowd, blending into her surroundings effortlessly, hiding in plain sight. Commander Shepard in her shining black armor would have attracted far too much attention for what she was at the Citadel to accomplish.

Admiral Anderson had summoned her.

_Councilor _Anderson, Garrus reminded himself, and stretched his long armored legs out in front of him. The last time he had seen the man was Shepard's funeral. Garrus had stuck around long enough to give a subtle nod to Wrex and Tali, clap Joker on the shoulder, and receive a _look_ from Anderson. One that had many emotions conveyed in it, but none Garrus had been willing to acknowledge. The admiral had become the reason for Shepard's death, in his mind. He was the one who had failed to corroborate the truth, to protect her and her crew and humanity from the threat of the reapers. Instead, he had grown soft in his time spent stuck behind a desk. Coddled by politicians and reporters. He had lost his edge.

Subconsciously, Garrus ground his teeth together. His protection instincts slammed against his psyche like a war drum. _Find Ahyoka. Make sure she's ok._ Turian psychology demanded he defend his mate. Common sense told him she needed no help from him unless she asked for it.

Caught up in his internal juxtaposition, he didn't notice the turian settle on the bench next to him - not until his visor picked up on the biosigns of his new neighbor. He stilled, mandibles flaring wide at the familiar scent.

"You're growing rusty, Vakarian," the figure drawled sweetly.

Garrus snapped his teeth together in warning and glanced at the female next to him out the corner of his eye. The individual was wearing a long, hooded black cloak over civilian clothing swathing a willowy figure. He suppressed the urge to growl. "Altana. Last time I checked, you weren't supposed to be on the Citadel."

She laughed lightly, running a hand along the top of her head, pushing her hood down. The female's dark plates where striking against her white clan markings. Her green eyes were no less keen than he had remembered them being, once upon a time. The family resemblance was striking. "My dear, dear Garrus. Lighten up! All that 'murder' nonsense was cleared up years ago. I've always been _noble_. You're just biased."

Garrus snorted. "Using your brother's Spectre status to get yourself out of a murder trial wasn't exactly noble."

Altana shifted slightly, throwing one leg casually over the other, the toes of her boots just brushing his spur. "Nihlus was always a bit of a hothead, but he still loved his little sister dearly. He would _never_ have let me rot away in C-Pen."

He stilled at the body contact. His personal bubble of comfort had expanded enough to include Shepard, and no one else. It had been years since a female of his own species blatantly flirted with him. Altana always expressed an interest in him, even back in his C-Sec days, when she was fresh off of her first tour of duty and camping out in Nihlus' apartment during shore leave. He subtly shifted away from her touch and scanned the crowd for Shepard.

"What are you doing to keep yourself busy these days?" Altana asked innocently, ignoring Garrus' hostility. "Last I heard, you had left C-Sec and fell off the grid. Solana called me looking for you. She was _beside_ herself with worry over the whereabouts of her dear brother."

Garrus allowed a small growl to escape through his teeth at the mention of his sister. The two females had gone to boot camp together, and became fast friends, much the his indignation. Altana smirked at the response. "Oh, struck a nerve, did I? Well then. Perhaps you'll tell me what you've been up to, so I can pass along a message? I'm sure it would mean the world to her."

"What I have been doing is not of your concern."

"Touchy, touchy. It sounds like you're carrying around some tension," she crooned, leaning her shoulder into him, regardless of his armor. "Perhaps you'd like to work some of that out?"

He shifted again, leaning away from her, a low rumble of warning building in his chest. It stopped at his teeth when he felt a familiar magnetic pull, and he snapped his head towards the crowd, searching. Shepard, clad in dark jeans and the black leather jacket he liked so much, appeared amidst the crush of Citadel foot traffic. Her hair was free of its usual braid and fell in ochre waves around her shoulders. Her face was clear of paint, and wore a mixed expression he couldn't place. He stood abruptly, causing Altana to jump back on the bench to avoid being hit in the face by his armored elbow.

She approached with her usual cat-like grace, swathed in an aura of strength and control. Her eyes sought his, finding them, before settling on the female turian behind him. Almost imperceptibly, the corners of her mouth turned up in amusement.

"_Adageyudi_," she said softly, reaching her hand up to cup the injured side of his face. "I see you've been making friends."

He leaned into her touch and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "'Friends' would be a generous term."

Garrus saw her eyes settle back on Altana's form. The female turian straightened at the attention and a predatory grin slid across Shepard's face.

"Please, introduce me to your...acquaintance, Garrus," Shepard said softly. He felt a chill slip down his spine at the tone of her voice.

"This is Altana Kyrik," he said, gesturing to the female on the bench. Altana stood gracefully, unfurling to her full height. Shepard, undeterred by the taller turian, lifted her chin slightly. "Nihlus' sister."

"Ah yes," Shepard said. "The family resemblance is _uncanny_."

"Altana, this is Commander Lana Shepard, Spectre."

If the female was surprised to see Shepard alive, she didn't let it show, and instead gave the commander a tight nod, eyes flitting between her and Garrus. "It's nice to meet you in person, Spectre. I've heard _so_ much about you."

Her tone was poisonous. Shepard merely smiled and approached the female. Altana was a head taller than the commander, but she shrunk at the human woman's gaze.

"Interesting. I've heard plenty about you as well," Shepard purred. "And none of it good." She drew her thick swath of hair over her right shoulder, and Altana snapped her teeth together. It was a subtle gesture, but Garrus noticed Shepard brush the collar of her jacket aside, exposing the still healing marks from the night before. _Nicely played, Commander_, he thought happily.

"I may have been dead for two years," she continued. "But I'm not naive. I know a threat and a challenge when I see one, even if I am _just a human_. What you're trying to get at, you have no right to. And if you continue, I unfortunately will have to stop you. And I have much more important things to expend my energy on than that. I had the...pleasure...of working with your brother. As much of an arrogant pain in the ass as he was, he knew his place in the galaxy and he did his job. I suggest you try following in his footsteps and make something of yourself."

Altana was silent for several moments before recovering her composure. A sneer spread across her face.

"Oh, Commander. You're sorely mistaken. While I find your little speech interesting, I have better things to do." She tilted her head towards Garrus. "Let me know when you grow bored of fucking humans, Vakarian. I can show you what you've been missing with your own species."

She ran a hand down his arm before disappearing into the crowd. Garrus stared after her as she went, eyes narrowed.

Shepard snorted. "Two pissing matches in one day. Lucky me."

He swung his head around to study her. In the bright Citadel lighting, she looked gaunt and exhausted beneath her understated beauty. The lines of her cheekbones stood out sharper than they had a few weeks ago. He thought back to the night before, her unclothed and sated, sprawled in bed. Under the Cerberus scars and dark skin, he could count every rib, every acute corner of bone pressing against skin. She was running herself into the ground.

"Anderson have a lot to say today?" he asked, hiding the disgusted subvocals coloring his voice.

"Let's just say the Alliance is not happy with me and my...acquaintance with a certain organization." She ran a hand through her thick hair. "But not angry enough to forgo asking after confidential information."

He nodded once, a tight gesture, and studied the crowd of people milling about. After receiving Anderson's summons, they had docked at the Citadel for resupply - both for the _Normandy _and for personal errands. Shepard was insisting he purchase a new set of armor, and she was in the market for a new set and a few odds and ends.

"Come on," he said, turning her in the direction of a string of shops. "Let's get on with it."

Garrus hadn't been shopping for armor in years; his current set had been a reliable go-to since he took off for Omega. Now, with the scorch marks and bullet holes, the structural integrity was compromised. He grudgingly accepted the need to purchase another set.

"I'm still keeping it, though," he noted fondly as they stopped outside Hahne-Kedar to scroll through the merch console. Shepard paused her browsing and raised an eyebrow at him.

"What?" he continued, crossing his arms over his chest. "This armor has a lot of memories." He bent his head down to touch his forehead to hers briefly. "And I was wearing it when you rescued me."

The corners of her mouth twitched and she turned back to the console. "What about this? Their newest turian model. You can add up to three upgrades."

He peered over her shoulder, letting his hand wanter to her waist, hidden from prying eyes by the bulk of his tall frame. "Hmmm. Not really a heavy armor sort of guy. Do they have it in medium?"

She stilled at the contact and studied him from the corner of her eye. "Yeah. Here." She pointed at the screen and he leaned closer, letting his mouth ghost against the side of her neck. He felt her shiver.

"That looks good," he drawled as she scrolled through the upgrade options. "Although I'm not sure how much need I would have for armor good up to a Level 2 cold hazard."

"It's Hahne-Kedar standard, Garrus. My N7 armor is good up to Level 3, but that cost me an upgrade slot."

"Ok. But does it come in Vakarian blue?"

She turned her head to stare at him, lips inches from his mouth. "Is that an actual thing?"

Her scent filled his senses and made his head spin. He drew back and pulled her into the shop, where the turian purveyor stood behind the counter, discussing the merits of environmental seals to a haggard-looking human. He acknowledged their presence with a brief nod.

"On Palaven," Garrus said to Shepard, studying a row of helmets hanging on a wall, "Each family has their own color or set of colors that distinguish them from other families. It dates back before the Unification Wars, as a way to distinguish who belonged where and to whom." He tapped a finger on a scuffed gauntlet. "Vakarian is...an old family. One of the oldest. Our specific color of blue is, well, the color of blood."

She nodded slowly, and placed a hand on his arm. "Will you be keeping this?" Her fingers traced the outline of the Archangel emblem painted onto his armor.

His throat clenched tightly. "I hadn't really put much thought into it," he admitted, gazing down at her. Her grey eyes searched his, then softened.

"I think you should. It's who you are now."

The shopkeep waved them over, breaking his contemplations. "Welcome to Hahne-Kedar." The turian faltered at the sight of Shepard, but quickly regathered his wits. "What can I help you with?"

Shepard sidled up to the counter and produced a chit from her pocket. "If you want to take this in back and get it started for me. All my info is on there - wondering if I could get the newest light armor set. Not too sure on the upgrades yet, thought."

The shopkeep studied her chit, eyes widening. "Yes, Commander Shepard. We have a couple N-Req light sets ready to be fabbed." He flipped the chit over in his hands, scanning it with his omnitool. "Still the same measurements?"

She bit her lower lip and shot a sideways glance at Garrus. "Take it in about two inches. Everywhere. And if I could get three undersuits with that? Model-specific, if possible."

The turian nodded and typed something in on his omnitool before turning to Garrus. "While that's processing, what can I help you with?"

"Wondering if I could try your newest medium model? I find I am in need of a brand new set." He gestured to the charred hole in the cowl and flared his mandibles. The shopkeeper's eyes widened.

"Did you purchase that set from us originally? If so, you can exchange it for a credit towards your new set."

Garrus cleared his throat. "Thanks but no. Not sure if I'm ready to part with it."

The other turian nodded knowingly and gestured across the counter to a fitting room. "I'll bring out the set for you. Standard sizing?"

"Should work for the purpose of trying it on. But I would like to do full custom."

The shopkeeper disappeared through a door behind the counter and Garrus rounded on Shepard.

"Two inches? Everywhere?"

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth and gave him a sheepish look. "It's a common human reaction to stress. And when Cerberus...brought me back, they did things to my metabolism." She shrugged. "I've been talking to Miranda and Chakwas about maintaining weight. We're trying to figure it out."

He racked his brain, thinking back. He'd caught her raiding the cry-unit his second night aboard the _Normandy_. She carried ration bars in her kit, and often ate them during downtime on missions. They often ate together in the mess, where she could shovel her way through a heathy serving of whatever Gardener had cooked up. In his time amongst humans, he knew they were prone to weight fluctuations. Turbans didn't store fat deposits, and if their weight fluctuated, it was due to to muscle gain or loss. He gave her a nod as the shopkeeper emerged with a handful of armor.

"You can use this room over here to try it on. Let me know how it feels. I can tell this isn't your first time purchasing, so I'll leave you to make your decisions."

Garrus unceremoniously slid the door shut behind him, divulging himself of his scorched armor and suiting up in the new set. He stared down sadly at the discarded pieces on the floor.

"This size will do," he said, and stepped out of the room, adjusting his greaves to lay more comfortably. "Although I'm going to need reinforced spur guards in a bigger size."

The shopkeeper nodded sagely and ran his omnitool over Garrus' armored form. "Can do. I have your colors on file. It looks like your father is a frequent customer back on Palaven."

Garrus raised his omnitool and transferred a file. "If you could - I have the specs."

"Excellent. Have you decided on upgrades? Anything above kinetic shielding or the generic environmental hazard protections will take several days."

"Just what I had for my current set is fine with the upgraded shielding."

"Excellent. Give me a few minutes and I'll have those ready."

He crouched a couple of times, windmilling his arms to test the flexibility of the joints.

"It looks good," Shepard said, pulling at a shoulder guard. "Definitely an improvement from your Archangel armor."

"Oh, is that what we're calling it now?" he quipped. She gave him a lopsided smile and shrugged.

"It makes sense, when you think about it."

She had a point. He had purchased the set on the way from his Citadel apartment to an Omega charter flight. The Archangel emblem had been adopted in part due to Weaver's expertise with fabbers. He had taken on the task of ensuring everyone's armor was in peak condition, stenciling the golden emblem on as a joke. After Sidonis, it seemed wrong to paint over it.

"Ok!" said the shopkeeper, emerging from the back wheeling Garrus' new armor pieces on a hanger. "I assumed you wanted this right away, considering the state of your other set."

"You assumed correctly," Garrus said, making his way back to the fitting area. Within minutes he was in his new armor, adjusting gaskets and checking latches. Shepard was at the counter signing for her new N7 set.

"If you could have it delivered to docking bay D24, care of Lana Shepard," she said, handing back the data pad and turning to smile at Garrus. "I already paid, so we can go. He's going to ship your old set back to the _Normandy_ with mine."

Garrus narrowed his eyes at her. "You paid. As in you bought mine?"

She flashed him a naughty grin, and he resisted the urge to throw her over his shoulder and carry her back to the ship like a petulant child. "You can buy my lunch," she said, and thanked the shopkeep for his assistance. They exited the store and he grabbed her arm, pushing her into a shadowed alcove.

"Why did you do that?"

She glared up at him. "Because I can. And...shit." Her voice cracked and she looked away, brushing hair out of her eyes. "I can't look at that armor and _not_ picture you laying in a pool of your own blood, Garrus."

_Oh._

Gently, he released her arm and cupped both sids of her face in his hands. It was something he relished doing; the size of his hands compared to her delicate features reminded him that she was still alive, not a construct of his imagination. He brought his forehead to hers and sighed.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't...I didn't realize."

She stared up at him, grey eyes swimming with unshed tears. "I didn't want to tell you. It...in my head, it sounded like a weakness."

"You are the strongest individual I have ever met, Lana. Please, don't ever think like that. Ok?"

She nodded, leaning into his hands. "Mortality has a different sort of weight when you've already died once," she said softly.

They slid out of the alcove and into the flow of foot traffic, keeping a professional amount of space between them, his nerves still singing from each stolen touch. Shepard strolled quietly beside him, looking the picture of calm, but he noticed the way her eyes never stopped moving, never stopped assessing their surroundings.

"Here," she said suddenly, turning into a small shop. The smell wafting through the open doorway was enough to make his head ache. Hand-woven tapestries in bold, geometric patterns hung from the walls. He felt too large to be waltzing through the tiny space, and hovered in the doorway, watching Shepard as she studied a shelf filled with jars.

The shopkeep, a stooped, wrinkled woman with long, grey hair pulled into a braid and skin the color of Shepard's, emerged from the back room. Garrus' eyes widened. The woman wore paint on her face - not the thick, horizontal bar of black he was familiar with - but vibrant red swirls that sunk into the creases of her skin. Shepard said a greeting in a language that made his translator chime unhappily, and the older woman smiled, flashing vibrant white teeth. She pointed to the shelf Shepard had been studying and nodded. His commander chose a jar and paid the woman for it, placing her purchase in a bag.

"Are you hungry?" she asked as they exited the shop. He watched as she adjusted the collar of her jacket, fingers brushing against the still-healing marks on the junction of her neck and shoulder. A low, rumbling growl built in his chest. Shepard, with her cybernetically enhanced hearing, paused and locked eyes with him. A rogue draft of air whispered past them, carrying her scent with it. Every thought dissolved in his mind as he felt his instincts begin to broil up to the surface

He pitched his voice low so not to carry. "I am...but not for food."

She instantly recognized his intent, her heart rate spiking on his visor feed. "The _Normandy _should be mostly empty..." she began.

In answer, he grabbed her free hand and pulled her through the crowd, weaving them in and out of the crush at a hurried pace. She didn't ask where he was taking her, but it was not the way to the ship.

He avoided the elevators, not trusting himself in an enclosed space with her in public, opting for the stairs. Her hand was still encased in his, easily keeping up with his loping strides. They emerged several flights later in a residential district. Garrus knew the area like the back of his hand - he had lived there since his C-Sec days. They speed-walked along a row of apartment doors until he came to an abrupt stop, releasing her hand to palm the biometric reader. The door slid open, and he pulled her inside.

Briefly, he realized he hadn't been back to his apartment since his abrupt departure from the Citadel more than two years prior. He pulled her across the minuscule living room and through the doorway to his bedroom, pausing only to grab the bag in her hand and drop it unceremoniously on the kitchen counter. With both hands free, she was able to begin snapping off pieces of his new armor, fumbling with the unfamiliar latches. Garrus walked her backwards to the bed, eyes never leaving hers, pulling his hands and arms free of his gloves and gauntlets. Shepard managed to free his chest cover flinging it unceremoniously into a corner. He bent down to pull off his greaves and boots and she slid the zipper down his spine and pushed the slick undersuit fabric off his shoulders and down his arms.

Freed from his shirt, he slid his hands up her legs and paused, letting his thumbs brush against the apex of her thighs. She gasped softly, igniting his blood. With blinding speed he tipped her onto the bed, admiring the way her hair spread in a dark halo around her head. She had removed her jacket, revealing a soft white shirt.

"Please don't shred this one," she whispered thickly. "It was really, _really _expensive."

Garrus flared his mandibles wide in a grin and gently tugged the garment over her head. Her black bra was beyond the dexterity of his hands - she arched her back off the bed and undid the clasp with one clever hand. It joined the pile of discarded armor on the floor. He ghosted his muzzle against the raw wound at the junction of her shoulder and neck, feeling her shiver as his tongue connected with skin.

Human flesh was less resilient than a turian's, but her cybernetics made up for most of it. They had discovered after their tryst in the cargo bay that he was correct about dextro-amino saliva - the mark on the left side of her neck had never quite healed. With each copulation he found himself instinctually drawn back to it, his teeth finding her skin. She had proven herself moderately educated in turian culture; whether she knew the significance of marking or not, she encouraged him.

"I never want you to give up being turian," she told him one evening, lithe figure curled around him on the bed in her quarters. "Humans have kinks. We're a species of varied tastes. Whatever you need, tell me."

What he _needed_ was her. Her scent filling his nose, making his head spin. The feeling of her blunt nails scraping down the back of his head. The warm wetness of her tongue against his uninjured mandible. He took a deep, shuddering breath and drug his mouth along her chest and stomach, long arms reaching down to pull the boots off her feet without looking. Her too-tight jeans followed.

"Don't you even _think _about it, Vakarian," she growled as he hooked a finger under the waistband of her panties.

"I'll buy you more," he replied, and sliced through the fabric effortlessly.

Shepard naked was a glorious thing to behold. He had never admired the exotic beauty of humans or asari prior to her. Skin the color of Palaven beaches - rich and tan and beautiful - covering wiry muscles decorated with a smattering of tattoos...he wanted to claim every inch of her and then some. He slid her further onto the bed and followed, kneeling between her legs.

"Remember the time you got that obnoxious song stuck in my head?" he growled, licking a trail from the hollow of her throat to her navel.

"Tool isn't..." she gasped as his tongue made contact with her breast. "...obnoxious."

He paused to nip at her hipbone. "I didn't understand why you enjoyed the song so much, until I looked up the lyrics." She arched off the bed as he ran a hand up the inside of her thigh. "I read them, over and over, and I even listened to the song until I had it memorized." He followed his hand with his tongue, leaving a wet trail down to her knee and back up, pausing to admire her laying under him, face flushed and panting.

A moan tumbled out between her lips as his tongue made contact with her center. He'd examined the vids Mordin provided - something he would probably never admit to anyone - and had watched with fascination as a male human brought his female partner to climax with his mouth. For several days after he had pondered how Shepard would feel about his teeth being that close to such a sensitive part of her body, until one night, rummaging through her drawers for the sound system remote, he stumbled upon an object he couldn't place.

"It's a vibrator," she said, clicking a button on the side of the toy. It buzzed to life, and she gave him a naughty grin.

"So...it vibrates," he said, head tilted in confusion.

"Yes. That's the general idea." She had stashed it back in the drawer and drawn him to her, giggling as his dual-toned growl rumbled against her neck. "I don't need it with you here."

The discovery had given him a novel idea. And so he wrapped an arm around her thigh and drew her closer, breathing in the scent of her arousal, the tang of her sharp on his tongue. He growled against her sex and she mewled, toes curling against his shoulder. _Bingo. _

"I still find the song obnoxious," he said, raising his head to look up at her. The sheets were a wrinkled mess, clutched in her fists. "But I know how you love it. I'm not going to sing it to you...but maybe we can turn it into a bit of...erotic poetry?"

His mouth found her again, tongue circling the bundle of nerves.

"_Shit..._Garrus...please..."

"Hmm?" he hummed against her, flaring his mandibles wide.

"_Please!_"

He grinned. "Ok, I'll stop teasing. Hmm..." - another delicious moan - "How did the lyrics go?" His grip on her thighs tightened. "_Locked up inside you like the calm beneath castles..._"

She shrieked, her whole body tensing, hips rocking up for purchase against his mouth. He nipped the inside of a thigh and pressed his mouth against her folds, nudging the sensitive bud.

"_Is a cavern of treasures that no one has been to..."_

She was chanting his name in between gasps, lighting his blood on fire. His lip plates were no where near as dexterous as the human male's had been, but he could still use his tongue. He slipped it inside her, feeling her inner walls clench down on it before he withdrew, grinning. _Thank spirits for sub-vocals, _he thought, and pressed his muzzle against her clit again.

"_Let's go digging..."_

She came screaming, nails scraping holes in his sheets, body convulsing as her orgasm ripped through her. He pinioned her hips to the bed and divulged himself of the lower half of undersuit while the aftershocks shook her. Naked and unplated, he slid up the bed beside her, grasping her waist and lifting her up to straddle him. Her unbound hair fell around her shoulders like a veil. She impaled herself on his erection, throwing her head back and moaning again.

"_Fuuuck_," he growled through clenched teeth. Shepard was still panting, chest rising and falling in rapid succession. He gave her a moment to catch her breath, feeling her inner walls adjust around him.

"You...magnificent...fantastic...amazing..._bastard_," she whispered to the ceiling.

He gave a rumble of amusement and circled her waist with his hands. "I think I _like _that song."

She rocked her hips in answer, urging him to move. _Insatiable creature,_ he thought, and bucked up against her. With each thrust more and more of his civilized manner fell away, and he found it increasingly difficult to be _gentle. _Already his taloned fingers were digging into her back, but if he moved them to the sheets he would ruin his mattress. Instead, he sat up and pushed his forehead against his. Her breasts were pressed against his keel bone, hips meeting his in a frenzied dance.

"_Ahyoka_," he breathed. It sounded like a prayer.

Her dark eyelashes fluttered as her eyes met his, molten pools of silver reflecting the blue glow of his visor. He detached it, tossing it onto the nightstand.

"You're not going to record this one?" she asked, biting her lip as he rocked into her again.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he replied innocently. Her nails found the sensitive skin under his fringe, raking down to the base of his neck. He felt it resonate through his entire body. With a grunt, he twisted until his feet hit the floor.

"What...what are you doing?" she panted. Carefully he carried her, still wrapped around him, through the door to the bathroom and stepped into the shower, slamming a fist on the button. Hot spray hit them like a geyser, making Shepard laugh, her head thrown back, water running in rivulets down her collarbones. She gasped when her back hit the cold tile wall as he pushed her against it.

"_Garrus_..." she moaned, rolling her head to the right, showing him her throat. He barely recognized the snarl that slipped through his teeth. His muzzle brushed the junction between her shoulder and neck, relishing the smell of her wet skin. She was pulsing around him, begging, hot and slick and everywhere all at once. He fought the broiling desire and leaned his head against the wall, angling himself to stroke her just right.

"_Garrus!"_ she said breathlessly, pulling his face towards hers. "_Please. Please!_"

He knew he would be done for if he gave in. He clenched his teeth and drove into her harder, growling a string of expletives he knew her translator would never pick up. Shepard growled. She tugged at his fringe, ripping his head back and exposing his throat to her. Dominant. She bit down on the fleshy side of his neck, blunt human teeth barely breaking the skin.

But it was enough.

He slammed her against the wall, cradling the back of her head with his hand to soften the blow. His teeth found the now-familiar mark, and he felt the skin break, iron-rich blood flowing over his tongue and down her body, only to be sluiced away by the spray. For the second time, she came screaming his name, clenching around him until he felt his own orgasm build and release in an explosion of pleasure that brought him to his knees.

It took them both several minutes to recover. Both were soaking wet and exhausted, covered in the battle wounds of their copulation. Garrus hit the switch and turned off the shower, scooping Shepard up in his arms and carrying her to the bed, where he deposited her with a thump and a giggle. He procured a towel from the bathroom and set to work drying her off, careful not to aggravate the still-raw marks. He ruffled her hair and threw the wet towel across the room. With a content sigh, he pulled her down under the sheets, burying his face in her neck, breathing in the still-present smell of her arousal.

"I'm going to safety assume this is _your_ apartment?" she asked.

"What if I told you it wasn't?" he murmured. "That you were now an accessory to breaking and entering?"

Her fingers traced the edge of his cowl. "Then I would have to play the ol' Spectre card. Duh."

He raised his head to study her face, smoothing her hair back with a hand. "Pulling rank, Commander?"

"And what if I am, Executive Officer Vakarian?"

The title rang out in his small bedroom. It was the first time she had used it since demoting Miranda from the position after the Cerberus operative threatened to kill Jack. He was more the de facto XO; the job usually fell on EDI, since Garrus accompanied Shepard on every ground-side mission. He playfully butted his forehead against hers and sighed.

"Sometimes I feel like I don't deserve this second chance," he said softly. Shepard slid her hand between his mandible and the scarred side of his face, dusting a kiss on his nose.

"Happiness is not a sin, Garrus," she replied.

He stretched and pulled her closer. "Do you...do you ever think about the future?"

She laid silent for so long he thought she had fallen asleep. "Sometimes," she whispered. "When I'm off the ship, wearing civilian clothes, blending in with the 'normal folks'...it's easier, then. There's not so much pressing down on me. I can pretend there's no reapers, no collectors." She stared up at the ceiling. "Sometimes I pretend I never died. Like two whole years of my existence...were never gone."

"I dreamed about you. I was alone on Omega, with a fake name and a shitty hole in the wall for an apartment and a bottle of brandy in my liver. I dreamed about you _every night_, no matter how drunk I was. I couldn't get rid of your ghost."

Her grey eyes met his. "Then I was never really dead."

"What?"

"Oh, my body was dead," she continued, pressing closer to him. "But we never _really_ die if we live on in the memories of others."

He contemplated, stroking her drying hair. Some nights his dreams had been so real he would wake up reaching for her apparition. "I never buried you. And I never let go of your memory."

Her eyelids fluttered sleepily. "I'm glad you didn't," she said quietly, her breathing becoming more even. "You kept me alive, Garrus."

He felt her slip into unconsciousness, each bit of tension melting from her body. For a long while he watched her sleep, until the even cadence of her breathing lulled him into darkness as well.


	16. Chapter XIV

The Citadel rarely changed.

Garrus sighed as he lounged on a bench overlooking a reservoir. The Normandy had been docked for a few hours; Shepard descending the gangway sans armor, clad in civilian clothes. It made the back of his neck itch to think of her so vulnerable, but she had assured him she was safer that way. The rational part of his mind knew she was correct. She had a way of disappearing into a crowd, blending into her surroundings effortlessly, hiding in plain sight. Commander Shepard in her shining black armor would have attracted far too much attention for what she was at the Citadel to accomplish.

Anderson had summoned her.

Councilor Anderson, Garrus reminded himself, and stretched his long armored legs out in front of him. The last time he had seen the man was Shepard's funeral. Garrus had stuck around long enough to give a subtle nod to Wrex and Tali, clap Joker on the shoulder, and receive a look from Anderson. One that had many emotions conveyed in it, but none Garrus had been willing to acknowledge. The admiral had become the reason for Shepard's death, in his mind. He was the one who had failed to corroborate the truth, to protect her and her crew and humanity from the threat of the reapers. Instead, he had grown soft in his time spent stuck behind a desk. Coddled by politicians and reporters. He had lost his edge.

Subconsciously, Garrus ground his teeth together. His protection instincts slammed against his psyche like a war drum. Find Ahyoka. Make sure she's ok. Turian psychology demanded he defend his mate. Common sense told him she needed no help from him unless she asked for it.

Caught up in his internal juxtaposition, he didn't notice the turian settle on the bench next to him - not until his visor picked up on the biosigns of his new neighbor. He stilled, mandibles flaring wide at the familiar scent.

"You're growing rusty, Vakarian," the figure drawled sweetly.

Garrus snapped his teeth together in warning and glanced at the female next to him out the corner of his eye. The individual was wearing a long, hooded black cloak over civilian clothing swathing a willowy figure. He suppressed the urge to growl. "Altana. Last time I checked, you weren't supposed to be on the Citadel."

She laughed lightly, running a hand along the top of her head, pushing her hood down. The female's dark plates where striking against her white clan markings. Her green eyes were no less keen than he had remembered them being, once upon a time. The family resemblance was striking. "My dear, dear Garrus. Lighten up! All that 'murder' nonsense was cleared up years ago. I've always been noble. You're just biased."

Garrus snorted. "Using your brother's Spectre status to get yourself out of a murder trial wasn't exactly noble."

Altana shifted slightly, throwing one leg casually over the other, the toes of her boots just brushing his spur. "Nihlus was always a bit of a hothead, but he still loved his little sister dearly. He would never have let me rot away in C-Pen."

He stilled at the body contact. His personal bubble of comfort had expanded enough to include Shepard, and no one else. It had been years since a female of his own species blatantly flirted with him. Altana always expressed an interest in him, even back in his C-Sec days, when she was fresh off of her first tour of duty and camping out in Nihlus' apartment during shore leave. He subtly shifted away from her touch and scanned the crowd for Shepard.

"What are you doing to keep yourself busy these days?" Altana asked innocently, ignoring Garrus' hostility. "Last I heard, you had left C-Sec and fell off the grid. Solana called me looking for you. She was beside herself with worry over the whereabouts of her dear brother."

Garrus allowed a small growl to escape through his teeth at the mention of his sister. The two females had gone to boot camp together, and became fast friends, much the his indignation. Altana smirked at the response. "Oh, struck a nerve, did I? Well then. Perhaps you'll tell me what you've been up to, so I can pass along a message? I'm sure it would mean the world to her."

"What I have been doing is not of your concern."

"Touchy, touchy. It sounds like you're carrying around some tension," she crooned, leaning her shoulder into him, regardless of his armor. "Perhaps you'd like to work some of that out?"

He shifted again, leaning away from her, a low rumble of warning building in his chest. It stopped at his teeth when he felt a familiar magnetic pull, and he snapped his head towards the crowd, searching. Shepard, clad in dark jeans and the black leather jacket he liked so much, appeared amidst the crush of Citadel foot traffic. Her hair was free of its usual braid and fell in ochre waves around her shoulders. Her face was clear of paint, and wore a mixed expression he couldn't place. He stood abruptly, causing Altana to jump back on the bench to avoid being hit in the face by his armored elbow.

She approached with her usual cat-like grace, swathed in an aura of strength and control. Her eyes sought his, finding them, before settling on the female turian behind him. Almost imperceptibly, the corners of her mouth turned up in amusement.

"Adageyudi," she said softly, reaching her hand up to cup the injured side of his face. "I see you've been making friends."

He leaned into her touch and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "'Friends' would be a generous term."

Garrus saw her eyes settle back on Altana's form. The female turian straightened at the attention and a predatory grin slid across Shepard's face.

"Please, introduce me to your...acquaintance, Garrus," Shepard said softly. He felt a chill slip down his spine at the tone of her voice.

"This is Altana Kyrik," he said, gesturing to the female on the bench. Altana stood gracefully, unfurling to her full height. Shepard, undeterred by the taller turian, lifted her chin slightly. "Nihlus' sister."

"Ah yes," Shepard said. "The family resemblance is uncanny."

"Altana, this is Commander Lana Shepard, Spectre."

If the female was surprised to see Shepard alive, she didn't let it show, and instead gave the commander a tight nod, eyes flitting between her and Garrus. "It's nice to meet you in person, Spectre. I've heard so much about you."

Her tone was poisonous. Shepard merely smiled and approached the female. Altana was a head taller than the commander, but she shrunk at the human woman's gaze.

"Interesting. I've heard plenty about you as well," Shepard purred. "And none of it good." She drew her thick swath of hair over her right shoulder, and Altana snapped her teeth together. It was a subtle gesture, but Garrus noticed Shepard brush the collar of her jacket aside, exposing the still healing marks from the night before. Nicely played, Commander, he thought happily.

"I may have been dead for two years," she continued. "But I'm not naive. I know a threat and a challenge when I see one, even if I am just a human. What you're trying to get at, you have no right to. Iff you continue, I unfortunately will have to stop you. And I have much more important things to expend my energy on than that. I had the...pleasure...of working with your brother. As much of an arrogant pain in the ass as he was, he knew his place in the galaxy and he did his job. I suggest you try following in his footsteps and make something of yourself."

Altana was silent for several moments before recovering her composure. A sneer spread across her face.

"Oh, Commander. You're sorely mistaken. While I find your little speech interesting, I have better things to do." She tilted her head towards Garrus. "Let me know when you grow bored of fucking humans, Vakarian. I can show you what you've been missing with your own species."

She ran a hand down his arm before disappearing into the crowd. Garrus stared after her as she went, eyes narrowed.

Shepard snorted. "Two pissing matches in one day. Lucky me."

He swung his head around to study her. In the bright Citadel lighting, she looked gaunt and exhausted beneath her understated beauty. The lines of her cheekbones stood out sharper than they had a few weeks ago. He thought back to the night before, her unclothed and sated, sprawled in bed. Under the Cerberus scars and dark skin, he could count every rib, every acute corner of bone pressing against skin. She was running herself into the ground.

"Anderson have a lot to say today?" he asked, hiding the disgusted subvocals coloring his voice.

"Let's just say the Alliance is not happy with me and my...acquaintance with a certain organization." She ran a hand through her thick hair. "But not angry enough to forgo asking after confidential information."

He nodded once, a tight gesture, and studied the crowd of people milling about. After receiving Anderson's summons, they had docked at the Citadel for resupply - both for the Normandy and for personal errands. Shepard was insisting he purchase a new set of armor, and she was in the market for a new set and a few odds and ends.

"Come on," he said, turning her in the direction of a string of shops. "Let's get on with it."

* * *

Garrus hadn't been shopping for armor in years; his current set had been a reliable go-to since he took off for Omega. Now, with the scorch marks and bullet holes, the structural integrity was compromised. He grudgingly accepted the need to purchase another set.

"I'm still keeping it, though," he noted fondly as they stopped outside Hahne-Kedar to scroll through the merch console. Shepard paused her browsing and raised an eyebrow at him.

"What?" he continued, crossing his arms over his chest. "This armor has a lot of memories." He bent his head down to touch his forehead to hers briefly. "And I was wearing it when you rescued me."

The corners of her mouth twitched and she turned back to the console. "What about this? Their newest turian model. You can add up to three upgrades."

He peered over her shoulder, letting his hand wanter to her waist, hidden from prying eyes by the bulk of his tall frame. "Hmmm. Not really a heavy armor sort of guy. Do they have it in medium?"

She stilled at the contact and studied him from the corner of her eye. "Yeah. Here." She pointed at the screen and he leaned closer, letting his mouth ghost against the side of her neck. He felt her shiver.

"That looks good," he drawled as she scrolled through the upgrade options. "Although I'm not sure how much need I would have for armor good up to a Level 2 cold hazard."

"It's Hahne-Kedar standard, Garrus. My N7 armor is good up to Level 3, but that cost me an upgrade slot."

"Ok. But does it come in Vakarian blue?"

She turned her head to stare at him, lips inches from his mouth. "Is that an actual thing?"

Her scent filled his senses and made his head spin. He drew back and pulled her into the shop, where the turian purveyor stood behind the counter, discussing the merits of environmental seals to a haggard-looking human. He acknowledged their presence with a brief nod.

"On Palaven," Garrus said to Shepard, studying a row of helmets hanging on a wall, "Each family has their own color or set of colors that distinguish them from other families. It dates back before the Unification Wars, as a way to distinguish who belonged where and to whom." He tapped a finger on a scuffed gauntlet. "Vakarian is...an old family. One of the oldest. Our specific color of blue is, well, the color of blood."

She nodded slowly, and placed a hand on his arm. "Will you be keeping this?" Her fingers traced the outline of the Archangel emblem painted onto his armor.

His throat clenched tightly. "I hadn't really put much thought into it," he admitted, gazing down at her. Her grey eyes searched his, then softened.

"I think you should. It's who you are now."

The shopkeep waved them over, breaking his contemplations. "Welcome to Hahne-Kedar." The turian faltered at the sight of Shepard, but quickly regathered his wits. "What can I help you with?"

Shepard sidled up to the counter and produced a chit from her pocket. "If you want to take this in back and get it started for me. All my info is on there - wondering if I could get the newest light armor set. Not too sure on the upgrades yet, thought."

The shopkeep studied her chit, eyes widening. "Yes, Commander Shepard. We have a couple N-Req light sets ready to be fabbed." He flipped the chit over in his hands, scanning it with his omnitool. "Still the same measurements?"

She bit her lower lip and shot a sideways glance at Garrus. "Take it in about two inches. Everywhere. And if I could get three undersuits with that? Model-specific, if possible."

The turian nodded and typed something in on his omnitool before turning to Garrus. "While that's processing, what can I help you with?"

"Wondering if I could try your newest medium model? I find I am in need of a brand new set." He gestured to the charred hole in the cowl and flared his mandibles. The shopkeeper's eyes widened.

"Did you purchase that set from us originally? If so, you can exchange it for a credit towards your new set."

Garrus cleared his throat. "Thanks but no. Not sure if I'm ready to part with it."

The other turian nodded knowingly and gestured across the counter to a fitting room. "I'll bring out the set for you. Standard sizing?"

"Should work for the purpose of trying it on. But I would like to do full custom."

The shopkeeper disappeared through a door behind the counter and Garrus rounded on Shepard.

"Two inches? Everywhere?"

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth and gave him a sheepish look. "It's a common human reaction to stress. And when Cerberus...brought me back, they did things to my metabolism." She shrugged. "I've been talking to Miranda and Chakwas about maintaining weight. We're trying to figure it out."

He racked his brain, thinking back. He'd caught her raiding the cry-unit his second night aboard the Normandy. She carried ration bars in her kit, and often ate them during downtime on missions. They often ate together in the mess, where she could shovel her way through a heathy serving of whatever Gardener had cooked up. In his time amongst humans, he knew they were prone to weight fluctuations. Turbans didn't store fat deposits, and if their weight fluctuated, it was due to to muscle gain or loss. He gave her a nod as the shopkeeper emerged with a handful of armor.

"You can use this room over here to try it on. Let me know how it feels. I can tell this isn't your first time purchasing, so I'll leave you to make your decisions."

Garrus unceremoniously slid the door shut behind him, divulging himself of his scorched armor and suiting up in the new set. He stared down sadly at the discarded pieces on the floor.

"This size will do," he said, and stepped out of the room, adjusting his greaves to lay more comfortably. "Although I'm going to need reinforced spur guards in a bigger size."

The shopkeeper nodded sagely and ran his omnitool over Garrus' armored form. "Can do. I have your colors on file. It looks like your father is a frequent customer back on Palaven."

Garrus raised his omnitool and transferred a file. "If you could - I have the specs."

"Excellent. Have you decided on upgrades? Anything above kinetic shielding or the generic environmental hazard protections will take several days."

"Just what I had for my current set is fine with the upgraded shielding."

"Excellent. Give me a few minutes and I'll have those ready."

He crouched a couple of times, windmilling his arms to test the flexibility of the joints.

"It looks good," Shepard said, pulling at a shoulder guard. "Definitely an improvement from your Archangel armor."

"Oh, is that what we're calling it now?" he quipped. She gave him a lopsided smile and shrugged.

"It makes sense, when you think about it."

She had a point. He had purchased the set on the way from his Citadel apartment to an Omega charter flight. The Archangel emblem had been adopted in part due to Weaver's expertise with fabbers. He had taken on the task of ensuring everyone's armor was in peak condition, stenciling the golden emblem on as a joke. After Sidonis, it seemed wrong to paint over it.

"Ok!" said the shopkeeper, emerging from the back wheeling Garrus' new armor pieces on a hanger. "I assumed you wanted this right away, considering the state of your other set."

"You assumed correctly," Garrus said, making his way back to the fitting area. Within minutes he was in his new armor, adjusting gaskets and checking latches. Shepard was at the counter signing for her new N7 set.

"If you could have it delivered to docking bay D24, care of Lana Shepard," she said, handing back the data pad and turning to smile at Garrus. "I already paid, so we can go. He's going to ship your old set back to the Normandy with mine."

Garrus narrowed his eyes at her. "You paid. As in you bought mine?"

She flashed him a naughty grin, and he resisted the urge to throw her over his shoulder and carry her back to the ship like a petulant child. "You can buy my lunch," she said, and thanked the shopkeep for his assistance. They exited the store and he grabbed her arm, pushing her into a shadowed alcove.

"Why did you do that?"

She glared up at him. "Because I can. And...shit." Her voice cracked and she looked away, brushing hair out of her eyes. "I can't look at that armor and not picture you laying in a pool of your own blood, Garrus."

Oh.

Gently, he released her arm and cupped both sids of her face in his hands. It was something he relished doing; the size of his hands compared to her delicate features reminded him that she was still alive, not a construct of his imagination. He brought his forehead to hers and sighed.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't...I didn't realize."

She stared up at him, grey eyes swimming with unshed tears. "I didn't want to tell you. It...in my head, it sounded like a weakness."

"You are the strongest individual I have ever met, Lana. Please, don't ever think like that. Ok?"

She nodded, leaning into his hands. "Mortality has a different sort of weight when you've already died once," she said softly.

They slid out of the alcove and into the flow of foot traffic, keeping a professional amount of space between them, his nerves still singing from each stolen touch. Shepard strolled quietly beside him, looking the picture of calm, but he noticed the way her eyes never stopped moving, never stopped assessing their surroundings.

"Here," she said suddenly, turning into a small shop. The smell wafting through the open doorway was enough to make his head ache. Hand-woven tapestries in bold, geometric patterns hung from the walls. He felt too large to be waltzing through the tiny space, and hovered in the doorway, watching Shepard as she studied a shelf filled with jars.

The shopkeep, a stooped, wrinkled woman with long, grey hair pulled into a braid and skin the color of Shepard's, emerged from the back room. Garrus' eyes widened. The woman wore paint on her face - not the thick, horizontal bar of black he was familiar with - but vibrant red swirls that sunk into the creases of her skin. Shepard said a greeting in a language that made his translator chime unhappily, and the older woman smiled, flashing vibrant white teeth. She pointed to the shelf Shepard had been studying and nodded. His commander chose a jar and paid the woman for it, placing her purchase in a bag.

"Are you hungry?" she asked as they exited the shop. He watched as she adjusted the collar of her jacket, fingers brushing against the still-healing marks on the junction of her neck and shoulder. A low, rumbling growl built in his chest. Shepard, with her cybernetically enhanced hearing, paused and locked eyes with him. A rogue draft of air whispered past them, carrying her scent with it. Every thought dissolved in his mind as he felt his instincts begin to broil up to the surface

He pitched his voice low so not to carry. "I am...but not for food."

She instantly recognized his intent, her heart rate spiking on his visor feed. "The Normandy should be mostly empty..." she began.

In answer, he grabbed her free hand and pulled her through the crowd, weaving them in and out of the crush at a hurried pace. She didn't ask where he was taking her, but it was not the way to the ship.

He avoided the elevators, not trusting himself in an enclosed space with her in public, opting for the stairs. Her hand was still encased in his, easily keeping up with his loping strides. They emerged several flights later in a residential district. Garrus knew the area like the back of his hand - he had lived there since his C-Sec days. They speed-walked along a row of apartment doors until he came to an abrupt stop, releasing her hand to palm the biometric reader. The door slid open, and he pulled her inside.

Briefly, he realized he hadn't been back to his apartment since his abrupt departure from the Citadel more than two years prior. He pulled her across the minuscule living room and through the doorway to his bedroom, pausing only to grab the bag in her hand and drop it unceremoniously on the kitchen counter. With both hands free, she was able to begin snapping off pieces of his new armor, fumbling with the unfamiliar latches. Garrus walked her backwards to the bed, eyes never leaving hers, pulling his hands and arms free of his gloves and gauntlets. Shepard managed to free his chest cover flinging it unceremoniously into a corner. He bent down to pull off his greaves and boots and she slid the zipper down his spine and pushed the slick undersuit fabric off his shoulders and down his arms.

Freed from his shirt, he slid his hands up her legs and paused, letting his thumbs brush against the apex of her thighs. She gasped softly, igniting his blood. With blinding speed he tipped her onto the bed, admiring the way her hair spread in a dark halo around her head. She had removed her jacket, revealing a soft white shirt.

"Please don't shred this one," she whispered thickly. "It was really, really expensive."

Garrus flared his mandibles wide in a grin and gently tugged the garment over her head. Her black bra was beyond the dexterity of his hands - she arched her back off the bed and undid the clasp with one clever hand. It joined the pile of discarded armor on the floor. He ghosted his muzzle against the raw wound at the junction of her shoulder and neck, feeling her shiver as his tongue connected with skin.

Human flesh was less resilient than a turian's, but her cybernetics made up for most of it. They had discovered after their tryst in the cargo bay that he was correct about dextro-amino saliva - the mark on the left side of her neck had never quite healed. With each copulation he found himself instinctually drawn back to it, his teeth finding her skin. She had proven herself moderately educated in turian culture; whether she knew the significance of marking or not, she encouraged him.

"I never want you to give up being turian," she told him one evening, lithe figure curled around him on the bed in her quarters. "Humans have kinks. We're a species of varied tastes. Whatever you need, tell me."

What he needed was her. Her scent filling his nose, making his head spin. The feeling of her blunt nails scraping down the back of his head. The warm wetness of her tongue against his uninjured mandible. He took a deep, shuddering breath and drug his mouth along her chest and stomach, long arms reaching down to pull the boots off her feet without looking. Her too-tight jeans followed.

"Don't you even think about it, Vakarian," she growled as he hooked a finger under the waistband of her panties.

"I'll buy you more," he replied, and sliced through the fabric effortlessly.

Shepard naked was a glorious thing to behold. He had never admired the exotic beauty of humans or asari prior to her. Skin the color of Palaven beaches - rich and tan and beautiful - covering wiry muscles decorated with a smattering of tattoos...he wanted to claim every inch of her and then some. He slid her further onto the bed and followed, kneeling between her legs.

"Remember the time you got that obnoxious song stuck in my head?" he growled, licking a trail from the hollow of her throat to her navel.

"It wasn't..." she gasped as his tongue made contact with her breast. "...obnoxious."

He paused to nip at her hipbone. "I didn't understand why you enjoyed the song so much, until I looked up the lyrics." She arched off the bed as he ran a hand up the inside of her thigh. "I read them, over and over, and I even listened to the song until I had it memorized." He followed his hand with his tongue, leaving a wet trail down to her knee and back up, pausing to admire her laying under him, face flushed and panting.

A moan tumbled out between her lips as his tongue made contact with her center. He'd examined the vids Mordin provided - something he would probably never admit to anyone - and had watched with fascination as a male human brought his female partner to climax with his mouth. For several days after he had pondered how Shepard would feel about his teeth being that close to such a sensitive part of her body, until one night, rummaging through her drawers for the sound system remote, he stumbled upon an object he couldn't place.

"It's a vibrator," she said, clicking a button on the side of the toy. It buzzed to life, and she gave him a naughty grin.

"So...it vibrates," he said, head tilted in confusion.

"Yes. That's the general idea." She had stashed it back in the drawer and drawn him to her, giggling as his dual-toned growl rumbled against her neck. "I don't need it with you here."

The discovery had given him a novel idea. And so he wrapped an arm around her thigh and drew her closer, breathing in the scent of her arousal, the tang of her sharp on his tongue. He growled against her sex and she mewled, toes curling against his shoulder. Bingo.

"I still find the song obnoxious," he said, raising his head to look up at her. The sheets were a wrinkled mess, clutched in her fists. "But I know how you love it. I'm not going to sing it to you...but maybe we can turn it into a bit of...erotic poetry?"

His mouth found her again, tongue circling the bundle of nerves.

"Shit...Garrus...please..."

"Hmm?" he hummed against her, flaring his mandibles wide.

"Please!"

He grinned. "Ok, I'll stop teasing. Hmm..." - another delicious moan - "How did the lyrics go?" His grip on her thighs tightened and he hummed against her.

She shrieked, her whole body tensing, hips rocking up for purchase against his mouth. He nipped the inside of a thigh and pressed his mouth against her folds, nudging the sensitive bud.

"Oh this is working much better than I thought it would," he quipped.

She was chanting his name in between gasps, lighting his blood on fire. His lip plates were no where near as dexterous as the human male's had been, but he could still use his tongue. He slipped it inside her, feeling her inner walls clench down on it before he withdrew, grinning. Thank spirits for sub-vocals, he thought, and pressed his muzzle against her clit again.

She came screaming, nails scraping holes in his sheets, body convulsing as her orgasm ripped through her. He pinioned her hips to the bed and divulged himself of the lower half of undersuit while the aftershocks shook her. Naked and unplated, he slid up the bed beside her, grasping her waist and lifting her up to straddle him. Her unbound hair fell around her shoulders like a veil. She impaled herself on his erection, throwing her head back and moaning again.

"Fuuuck," he growled through clenched teeth. Shepard was still panting, chest rising and falling in rapid succession. He gave her a moment to catch her breath, feeling her inner walls adjust around him.

"You...magnificent...fantastic...amazing...bastard," she whispered to the ceiling.

He gave a rumble of amusement and circled her waist with his hands. "I think I like that song."

She rocked her hips in answer, urging him to move. Insatiable creature, he thought, and bucked up against her. With each thrust more and more of his civilized manner fell away, and he found it increasingly difficult to be gentle. Already his taloned fingers were digging into her back, but if he moved them to the sheets he would ruin his mattress. Instead, he sat up and pushed his forehead against his. Her breasts were pressed against his keel bone, hips meeting his in a frenzied dance.

"Ahyoka," he breathed. It sounded like a prayer.

Her dark eyelashes fluttered as her eyes met his, molten pools of silver reflecting the blue glow of his visor. He detached it, tossing it onto the nightstand.

"You're not going to record this one?" she asked, biting her lip as he rocked into her again.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he replied innocently. Her nails found the sensitive skin under his fringe, raking down to the base of his neck. He felt it resonate through his entire body. With a grunt, he twisted until his feet hit the floor.

"What...what are you doing?" she panted. Carefully he carried her, still wrapped around him, through the door to the bathroom and stepped into the shower, slamming a fist on the button. Hot spray hit them like a geyser, making Shepard laugh, her head thrown back, water running in rivulets down her collarbones. She gasped when her back hit the cold tile wall as he pushed her against it.

"Garrus..." she moaned, rolling her head to the right, showing him her throat. He barely recognized the snarl that slipped through his teeth. His muzzle brushed the junction between her shoulder and neck, relishing the smell of her wet skin. She was pulsing around him, begging, hot and slick and everywhere all at once. He fought the broiling desire and leaned his head against the wall, angling himself to stroke her just right.

"Garrus!" she said breathlessly, pulling his face towards hers. "Please. Please!"

He knew he would be done for if he gave in. He clenched his teeth and drove into her harder, growling a string of expletives he knew her translator would never pick up. Shepard growled. She tugged at his fringe, ripping his head back and exposing his throat to her. Dominant. She bit down on the fleshy side of his neck, blunt human teeth barely breaking the skin.

But it was enough.

He slammed her against the wall, cradling the back of her head with his hand to soften the blow. His teeth found the now-familiar mark, and he felt the skin break, iron-rich blood flowing over his tongue and down her body, only to be sluiced away by the spray. For the second time, she came screaming his name, clenching around him until he felt his own orgasm build and release in an explosion of pleasure that brought him to his knees.

It took them both several minutes to recover. Both were soaking wet and exhausted, covered in the battle wounds of their copulation. Garrus hit the switch and turned off the shower, scooping Shepard up in his arms and carrying her to the bed, where he deposited her with a thump and a giggle. He procured a towel from the bathroom and set to work drying her off, careful not to aggravate the still-raw marks. He ruffled her hair and threw the wet towel across the room. With a content sigh, he pulled her down under the sheets, burying his face in her neck, breathing in the still-present smell of her arousal.

"I'm going to safety assume this is your apartment?" she asked.

"What if I told you it wasn't?" he murmured. "That you were now an accessory to breaking and entering?"

Her fingers traced the edge of his cowl. "Then I would have to play the ol' Spectre card. Duh."

He raised his head to study her face, smoothing her hair back with a hand. "Pulling rank, Commander?"

"And what if I am, Executive Officer Vakarian?"

The title rang out in his small bedroom. It was the first time she had used it since demoting Miranda from the position after the Cerberus operative threatened to kill Jack. He was more the de facto XO; the job usually fell on EDI, since Garrus accompanied Shepard on every ground-side mission. He playfully butted his forehead against hers and sighed.

"Sometimes I feel like I don't deserve this second chance," he said softly. Shepard slid her hand between his mandible and the scarred side of his face, dusting a kiss on his nose.

"Happiness is not a sin, Garrus," she replied.

He stretched and pulled her closer. "Do you...do you ever think about the future?"

She laid silent for so long he thought she had fallen asleep. "Sometimes," she whispered. "When I'm off the ship, wearing civilian clothes, blending in with the 'normal folks'...it's easier, then. There's not so much pressing down on me. I can pretend there's no reapers, no collectors." She stared up at the ceiling. "Sometimes I pretend I never died. Like two whole years of my existence...were never gone."

"I dreamed about you. I was alone on Omega, with a fake name and a shitty hole in the wall for an apartment and a bottle of brandy in my liver. I dreamed about you every night, no matter how drunk I was. I couldn't get rid of your ghost."

Her grey eyes met his. "Then I was never really dead."

"What?"

"Oh, my body was dead," she continued, pressing closer to him. "But we never really die if we live on in the memories of others."

He contemplated, stroking her drying hair. Some nights his dreams had been so real he would wake up reaching for her apparition. "I never buried you. And I never let go of your memory."

Her eyelids fluttered sleepily. "I'm glad you didn't," she said quietly, her breathing becoming more even. "You kept me alive, Garrus."

He felt her slip into unconsciousness, each bit of tension melting from her body. For a long while he watched her sleep, until the even cadence of her breathing lulled him into darkness as well.

* * *

_Author's note: _So...school, work and life seem to really disrupt my publishing schedule. I apologize. I'm on winter interim now, and I'm going to _try _and publish at least the next chapter after this and write several more in case I get busy again next semester.

I've completely thrown out most of the canonical plot in this fic. If you don't appreciate it, I suggest you stop reading this and any of my other Shakarian fics. While I appreciate the storyline laid out in the games by Bioware, I'm playing in their sandbox. In the last two chapters, we've met two characters who may become very influential down the road. I promise, as Shepard said, there is a method to my madness.

Also, to give a bit of credit where credit is due - several fics on this site as well as AO3 have mentioned turian culture and customs. Since it's purely speculation at this point, I have a few ideas of my own as far as courting and marriage goes. Several ideas that have been bouncing around in my head have also been written into other stories. Probably the best and most unique versions can be found in Myetel's "Spirit of Redemption", where wedding knives are mentioned.


	17. Chapter XV

The soft buzzing of her omnitool shook Shepard into consciousness. For a moment, she was disoriented by unfamiliar surroundings and the diffused artificial light streaming in through a small window across her face. But the soft, sleeping sounds of the long, lithe and warm turian next to her on the bed washed over her like a blanket. She sat up, shedding sheets. The small room was dim and sparse, decorated with discarded armor and various pieces of her clothing. Out of habit, she took assessment of her various cuts and bruises - some which had already began to look days old. Fucking Cerberus cybernetics, she thought, and stretched, feeling a twinge on the left side of her neck. She swung her feet onto the cold floor and smiled. Sometimes, all it took was a life-affirming orgasm to sew the pieces of her chaotic existence back together again.

Gathering her clothes took longer than necessary - she would again be sans underwear thanks to Garrus' impatience. At the rate they were going, she would need to enlist Kasumi as a personal shopper for all things lingerie. She giggled quietly at the thought until her rumbling stomach made its presence known as she pulled on her jeans. Being in the black for weeks at a time had done interesting things to her Circadian clock. The Citadel ran on its own thirty hour day. The Normandy, being a human vessel, ran on GMT. The middle of the night cycle here coincided with breakfast time on the ship.

He's not waking up any time soon, she mused, tugging on her jacket and padding quietly out into the kitchen. Garrus' apartment was small and utilitarian with an air of abandonment and neglect. She peeked into the cupboards and found nothing. The cryo-unit was of course bare. She palmed the door open and slid out into the artificial night, trying to get her bearings.

The residential area was up on the far end of one of the Citadel's five "arms". Looking along the length there was a subtle curve, bracketed by an artificial sky and dotted with aircar traffic. Taking the stairs down several levels, she came out into a shop district. Judging by the amount of turians, it was primarily a dextro-catering crowd. And I have no idea what Garrus likes to eat. She frowned, leaning against a wall next to a news console, ignoring the VI voice spouting off local advertisements. Observing the milling crowd, she judged the nearest deli to be the most popular.

Hiding in plain sight was a penchant she had developed as a small child. Appearing smaller, more innocent than she normally was, curling in on herself and asking tourist-like questions added to the charade. Weaving between the handful of tables outside the shop, she stood back from the counter and studied the menu, tapping her finger against her lips in contemplation. It was written in turian, of course, which she read only with the assistance of a translator program on her omnitool. Pulling it up would attract too much attention; being human in a primarily turian ward was suspect enough. Luckily, there were holo images of each dish. She was deciding between a stir-fry looking meal and something that resembled purple meatloaf when an unfamiliar turian dressed in civilian clothing shuffled up next to her. Shepard shifted slightly studied the male out the corner of her eye.

"You look confused," he drawled, flanged voice soft and vaguely familiar. "Try a number seventeen. It's my favorite."

"You just saved me ten minutes of asking really awkward questions," she replied quietly, turning towards the male with a smile. "Thank you."

Oh shit.

Lantar Sidonis' eyes widened, filling with panic. "Oh, shit," he said, taking a step back into a female standing behind him, who squaked in alarm. "Oh shit. Oh shit. He's not here, is he?"

Shepard held her hands up in front of her. "No, no, it's just me," she cooed in a soothing voice. "Please. Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you. I promise. See? No guns." She held open her jacket to prove the point. Sidonis stopped walking backwards and stared at her through narrowed eyes. Of all the turians to run into...she thought irritably. First Nihlus' sister, now Garrus' nemesis. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. "Can I buy you something to eat?"

The words were out of her mouth before her brain caught up. Garrus had forgiven her for stepping in front of his crosshairs, and he certainly hadn't forgotten. But the male in front of her, with the terrified eyes and the wrinkled clothes, tugged a bit at her heart. There are two sides to every story, she thought, and laid a hand lightly on Sidonis' forearm. "Please, I promise I'm not here to do anything. Just a civilian, getting turian take-out."

Sidonis looked on the verge of running, balancing on his toes, muscles tense. His head swung wildly. "Why would you want to buy me dinner? You're...you're with him."

Shepard sighed, flashed him a 'one minute' gesture, and stepped up to the counter. "Two number seventeens," she told the cashier. "One for here, one to go please." Arms crossed, she rounded on the turian and fixed him with her best commander stare. "I've bought your dinner. Now, it would be polite if you sat down and ate it."

Sidonis gaped, mouth hanging open a bit, hands limp at his side. The male looked around one more time before sighing and sagging in on himself. "Fine. Spirits, I must have a death wish."

A tray with his meal and a bag with Garrus' were given to the Commander, who lead Sidonis over to an empty table for two. The male sat, spine ramrod straight, eyes still widened in panic. Shepard pushed the tray of food towards him and sat back, folding her hands in her lap demurely.

"Why the fuck are you doing this?" Sidonis asked, his voice grating. "I barely know you, but...shit." He put his head in his hands and keened softly. "I owe you my life."

Shepard studied him. Light grey plates and violet markings so faded they were almost invisible. His clothing was worn and patched in places, in need of a wash. She felt her heart twinge at the sight of him. You don't strike me as the type to turn on your men, she thought, and sat back. "Believe me. I saved you because I didn't want Garrus to be completely consumed by his need for revenge."

Sidonis raised his head out of his palms. "You should have let him shoot me," he said forcefully. "It's more than I deserved, dying from his bullet. At least it would have been quick and painless..." His voice trailed off, and he hung his head again.

"Eat your food," Shepard replied, pushing the tray towards him. "And while you're eating, you can explain to me why I just don't quite see you as the villain."

As she expected, the turian gaped at her, mouth popping open, mandibles flared wide. Surprise is universal throughout the galaxy, she thought. It took him several seconds to regain his wits.

"But...surely he told you that-"

She held up a hand and he quieted at once. "Sidonis. I know Garrus better than I know any other individual in this galaxy. I scraped him, bloody and dying, off the floor of your hideout back in Omega, and held his face together with my bare hands while he bled out. He almost died on me..." Her voice caught, and she closed her eyes briefly. "And when he didn't, and came back burning with this dark fury I didn't know he was even capable of possessing, I wanted to cut down every single person who had hurt him while I was dead. But, when I stood in front of you - in his shot - listening to him yell at me in my earpiece, I got a good look at you. Call me soft, but I just don't see the darkness in you that I've seen in him." Sidonis sputtered, brow plates knitting together, and Shepard shook her head, raven hair falling like a slick over her eyes. "He carries the burden of ten dead men on his shoulders, and I don't know if that will ever go away. But I also think he carries that burden because deep down, he knows you didn't sell them out on purpose. And that's eating him almost as much as the ghosts of his crew."

The male was quiet for a solid five minutes, pushing the food around his tray with a knife he fished out of his pocket. Shepard didn't push him for an answer, but instead opted to watch as the emotions flickered across his face. Surprise, hurt, despair, anger, until finally settling on just plain tired. He sighed, and took a bite of something purple before setting the knife down and fixing her with a blue-eyed stare.

"He barely ever talked about you, at first." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I stumbled into him at some hole-in-the-wall dextro bar. He had worked his way through almost an entire bottle of some disgusting brandy. I sat down next to him, took one look at his face, realized he was the Garrus Vakarian, and promptly asked for his fucking autograph." Sidonis chuckled, a pleasant, warm sound that curled the corners of Shepard's mouth into a small smile. "He told me to fucking shove it, that he wasn't famous, and then proceeded to knock the brandy bottle onto the floor with his elbow, where it of course broke. 'Oh, look, it's like my fucking life,' he told me. 'In pieces, soaked in alcohol, on the shit-covered floor of Omega.' I bought him another bottle. Figured it was the least I owed to the guy who helped take down Saren. It was weeks before he even talked about his time on your ship." Sidonis stabbed at the meat on his tray with his knife. "Fucking dull piece of shit," he muttered. Shepard dug into her shirt and held out a switchblade. The male's eyes widened, and he looked from the knife to her and back again.

"With all due respect, Commander," he stammered, pushing her hand away, "I can't take a knife from the mate of another male."

Shepard's brows knitted together in confusion as comprehension spread across Sidonis' face. "I don't -"

He held his hands up and flashed her a tentative smile. "You really need to do more research into turian customs."

She felt her cheeks color, and took the knife back, tucking it into her jacket pocket with a shy grin. "I just broke some serious taboo, didn't I?"

Lantar smiled a real smile, changing the planes of his face - and for the first time, Shepard found herself looking into the face of Garrus' right-hand man, instead of the burnt out, jaded male she had saved months before. When he wasn't in fear for his life, Sindonis had kind eyes, almost the same blue as Garrus', and a face with softer angles that appeared almost youthful. The male was shorter than most turians she had encountered, with broader shoulders and a more compact frame. He still carried himself like life had beaten him down, but she hoped time would change that.

"He had a knife for you," Lantar added quietly, continuing to eat with his own dull blade. "His family follows pretty closely to the old traditions - you give a knife to the people you pledge yourself to. He claimed he had gotten it when you took him aboard the Normandy, during your hunt for Saren. Looking back at it now, I have a feeling his motivations went a little deeper than pledging oath to his commander."

Shepard ran a hand through her hair. "So, if you aren't pledging oath to your commander..."

"Bondmates," he replied through a mouthful of food. "Not everyone does it anymore; the same as not everyone trades marks." He tilted his head slightly. "Some consider it to be...archaic. But instinctually, turians like to know who belongs where and to whom. And if I had to guess, Garrus hasn't been immediately forthcoming with further explanation into the matter."

"Oh shit," she said, leaning back in her chair, throat constricting. "Oh, shit." She had begged him to bite her, thinking it was just a turian thing. Oh shit. What if I forced him into it? She thought. What if I forced him to do something that he wasn't ready for?

Sidonis snorted. "Good to see some things don't change. I wouldn't worry about it, Commander. He's been pretty stuck on you for as long as I've known him." His face darkened. "Knew him." He passed a shaky hand over his fringe and studied her. "You do realize how bizarrely fucked up this situation is that we've found ourselves in."

Shepard leaned back and shook her hair over her shoulders, staring up at the distant artificial sky. Story of my life, she thought, and passed a hand over her face. "That seems to be a reoccurring theme for me." God dammit, Garrus.

Sidonis tilted his head to the side - a gesture Shepard was now recognizing as wholly turian. In some obscure way, it make her like the male even more; beyond the darkness hanging over him, he was still a person, albeit a very lost one. She chewed her lip and pulled her hair over one shoulder, trying not to wince as the collar of her jacket rubbed against he still heeling marks.

"You really didn't know, did you?" he said, pushing his now empty tray to the side and leaning his elbows on the table. "Before you died, I mean. You didn't know?"

She quirked an eyebrow. Very straight-forward, this turian. "No. Neither did he, to a certain extent. Finding him on Omega was...serendipitous, to say the least. And for a while, things were normal. Or as normal as they can be when your undead commander pulls you bleeding and dying from your vigilante hideout and brings you aboard her pro-human spaceship." Shepard steepled her fingers together to rest her chin on. "He didn't talk to me for five and a half days after I stopped him from shooting you. I've never seen him so angry. Not even after the whole Saleon incident. It was like he was being swallowed by his own personal black hole."

"He is - was - a hell of a leader," Sidonis replied quietly. "Cared about his men. Got to know them. Hell. He pulled me out of a pretty deep hole. Gave me a reason to use my talents for good." He scratched the back of his neck. "The deadliest sniper I've ever seen, even after ten years in the Hierarchy military. Naturally charismatic. Everything they depicted in the vids, and then some. The only thing missing was you. He was fire - constantly burning for vengeance. Don't take this the wrong way, Commander. Garrus was a fantastic leader. But, spirits know, fire needs to be kept in control. You were the storm that made sure he didn't burn himself."

He wasn't saying anything she hadn't surmised for herself. While Garrus barely ever talked about his time on Omega, she had been around the block enough to know when passion and hatred were the only things keeping someone alive. Even when she first met him, he had been a star on the verge of supernova; the hot-headed cop hellbent on justice. Willing to do whatever it took.

"We got too ahead of ourselves, in the end," Sidonis continued, his voice barely a whisper. "Our plans too idealistic. The first year was so fucking perfect. Garrus got sober, started stepping up. We found the rest of our crew - ridiculously talented individuals too washed out and jaded to do anything else anywhere else in the galaxy. He paid off my debts for me. Gave me a clean slate. Gave us all a clean slate...then it imploded. And it's all my fault."

The absolute despair in his voice almost pulled her under. His face darkened and his eyes became haunted. Spirit sick, she thought to herself. Lost, without purpose. Around their table, life went on, individuals going about their daily lives. Oblivious to the tentative back and forth playing out between human and turian. Everybody deserves a second chance. Shit, I got one hell of a second chance."Lantar," she said quietly. "I think you need to tell Garrus your side of the story."

The male sucked in a breath. "Are you insane?" he spat, hands clenching into fists on the table.

Shepard quirked a small smile. "Perhaps. But, in all honesty, neither of you can keep this hanging over your heads. I need him at his best. And you? You can't keep living like this."

The turian was silent for a few moments before leaning back in his chair and sighing heavily. "Ok. Shit. You're right. I know you're right. If you weren't...well...you, I wouldn't even be considering this."

She gathered up her to-go bag and stood. "There is a method to my madness, Lantar. Trust me, ok?"

Sidonis nodded tightly and followed her out into the crowd.


	18. Chapter XVI

A/N: ate this chapter so I needed to repost. Sorry for any confusion.

* * *

The pulsing pressure of silence woke him. There was no warm, lithe body next to him on the bed. No doubt she had gone out in search of food - night was her usual foraging time. He swung off the bed and took a moment to gather the various discarded parts of his armor haphazardly spread about the room. A flicker of contentment rose in his chest as he pulled on the lower pieces, his and Shepard's scents mixing in the confines of his room. His territory. He had owned the apartment for over five years - a gift from his family after he became a CSec officer. Shortly before boarding the SR1 for the first time, he had purchased the deed from his father and put it in his name.

It was a good home, he mused, padding into the kitchen and kicking on the extranet console. The dulcet tones of Emily Wong's news report filled the apartment as he leaned against the counter, flipping through the messages on him omnitool. He had several eyes and ears still around on the Citadel and Omega, sending their usual reports that he opened in between deleting ridiculous amounts of junk mail and spam.

The door snicking open tore him from his inbox. Shepard, her figure hovering on the threshold, looking caught between defiance and panic. He tilted his head and gave her a hum of approval, her scent filling the small area. "Ahyoka," he murmured, straightening and moving towards her, only to be stopped in his tracks by another familiar scent.

His entire world compressed down to the dimly lit doorway. He felt his heart rate skyrocket as blood pounded into his ears and head, greying his vision at the edges. Shepard skittered into the apartment, hands raised in a defensive gesture. "Garrus," she said soothingly, walking forward to lay a hand on his forearm. "Just hear me out..."

He snarled a string of expletives and heard her translator chime unhappily as it failed to register the outburst. Shepard bit her lip nervously as the figure of Lantar Sidonis slid over his threshold, into his territory. The male looked haggard and absolutely terrified, on the verge of fleeing, eyes wide and mouth open slightly, panting.

"Why the _FUCK_ is he here?" Garrus yelled, voicing echoing off the empty walls. He never raised his voice - it was one of his better qualities. Usually Shepard did most of the yelling, and it was always on the battlefield. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her flinch, and for a moment felt his temper dim with guilt at scaring his mate. He drew in a sharp breath and clenched his fists.

"I was out getting food," Shepard said, almost sheepishly. "And, go figure, I have no idea what kind of turian cuisine you like. I stood there, looking like a moron, and he suggested a number seventeen. Garrus, _please_, just listen to his side of the story."

The floor skittered beneath him, and for a moment, it wasn't Sidonis standing in his doorway, but Anderson, dressed in crisp Alliance dress blues, his face a solemn mask. The sight of his lone surviving crew member was almost the same kick in the gut as learning about the death of his commander. All my fault, I wasn't there. He stole a look at his former right hand, taking in the frayed hem of his civilian tunic, the general air of dishevelment surrounding the other male, and sighed. Garrus passed a shaky hand over his eyes, realizing that he hadn't put his visor back on.

"Well," he growled, voice harsh from choked emotion. "I wasn't expecting company." A gesture to his bare upper body and a tight grin towards Shepard had the atmosphere in the apartment thinning just the slightest. Sidonis shuffled his feet awkwardly, pressing his back against the wall next to the door, still looking terrified. Garrus turned towards the other male. "There's a couch over there. You can use it."

He meant to try and sound friendly, but the invitation came out strangled and strained as it passed his teeth. Shepard shot him a look that clearly said she was not impressed with his manners, and that he should try again. Garrus sucked in a shaky breath and forced a grin on his face.

"Don't just stand there like a lost pyjak. Sit. I'm going to reheat this."

He took the bag from Shepard and shuffled to the kitchen, trying to ignore the way his back itched as Sidonis tentatively sat down, one knee bouncing out a staccato rhythm in the oppressive silence. Shepard, to her credit, sat next to him, pulling up her own omnitool and filling the lull with a soft orange light and several soft sighs - no doubt she was annoyed at the sight of her own inbox.

As his food rotated in the heating unit, Garrus resisted the urge to snap his teeth together in irritation. It was a massive compliment to his respect for Shepard that he allowed Sidonis to cross the threshold. They were weeks past the few moments where Archangel had the traitor's head neatly positioned in his crosshairs, and yet, even in the softest of moments between him and his mate, Garrus still found himself falling asleep with the faces of his dead crew scorched firmly into the back of his mind. The ghosts of ten dead men, blanketing his subconscious and haunting his waking hours until sleep took him and he fretted in a never-ending cycle of guilt and self-deprecation.

Then Shepard had come, the commander facade cracking and slipping off of her like a heavy robe, revealing the woman he had come to love more than the breath that sustained him. Some nights her presence was enough to chase the nightmares away; some nights he would wake keening and shouting into the open space of Shepard's quarters. She never pushed or asked the content of his dreams. And for that, he was grateful.

The heating unit beeped its completion and he removed his meal, carrying it over to his chair and sitting stiffly across from Sidonis and Shepard. He realized that she was allowing him to dictate the exchange, subtly. He balanced the meal tray on his armored knees, pulling his knife out to cut the meat into more manageable pieces. Sidonis eyed him. The silence stretched taut until Shepard cleared her throat without raising her eyes from the open screen on her arm.

"Look," Sidonis said, voice cracking. "She talked me into coming here. If this is just going to end up with my brains all over the wall -"

"You have five minutes," Garrus replied gruffly. "Five minutes until my patience runs out and things get messy."

The other male snapped his teeth together in indignation and went to stand. Shepard, without looking up from her omnitool, threw out an arm and pushed Sidonis back down onto the couch. "Method to my madness, remember?" she said with a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

"Fine!" Sidonis snapped, hands curling into fists on his knees. "Fine. Fuck. Is she always this stubborn?"

Garrus paused, a chunk of meet speared on his knife half-way from his plate to his mouth sending up tendrils of steam. He gave the other male a slight nod. "Always."

Sidonis mumbled something like "made for each other" before sitting up straighter. "So...I'm here to tell my side of the story, I guess?" He inclined his head towards Shepard, who nodded, hand scrolling down a holo screen. "Yeah. So..." He rubbed his hands together. "I guess, first of all, I need to say - again - how...fucking sorry I am. I know it won't change anything. But I fucked up."

Garrus snapped his teeth together. "Tell me something I don't already know."

Sidonis threw his hands in the air. "You don't understand though. They were going to _kill_ you, Garrus. They were going to kill me, to get to you. And they almost did."

He put his tray down and leaned forward. "What?"

Sidonis rubbed a shaking hand across his eyes. "I...they caught me in that little hole-in-the-wall bar we used to go to after a good mission. I think the bartender was in with them, or maybe got paid, but they...drugged my beer. Next thing I know I'm waking up in some giant warehouse, tied to a crate."

Shepard closed her omnitool and turned to face Sidonis, her brow knotted. "You were kidnapped?"

He shrugged. "I guess? I don't know how they knew that I was running with Archangel's crew, but they knew who I was, and they wanted...info."

Garrus' mind spun. Sidonis had failed to report in to base that night, sending a cryptic message about meeting up for a job, insisting just Garrus come and help. "Who?" he growled.

"I still don't really know. They...I was blindfolded for most of it and my memory is kind of hazy."

"What kind of questions did they ask you?" This from Shepard, who was looking at Garrus with a glint in her eye. _I know that look_, he thought, groaning internally. _She's taken fucking Sidonis under her wing, and wants to help him get revenge. Spirits, woman, you'll be the death of me._

"'Where is Archangel?' 'Who is Archangel?' 'Where is your base?' When I failed to be...cooperative, they got...creative." His voice cracked a bit, and Garrus saw a shudder wrack through his body. "Apparently one of them was good with a knife."

He rolled up the sleeve of his tunic, revealing forearm flesh that looked as if someone had burned the first layer of skin off. Scars, shiny and stretched tight lay where scales and plates normally would be. Garrus flinched and sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth and rubbed at the scars on his own face. Sidonis met his eye and sighed.

"They started there," he continued quietly, rolling the other sleeve up, revealing matching scars on the opposite arm. "Funny thing about flaying a turian - you have to peal the scales off first before the skin will cut cleanly."

"Mercs?" Shepard said, question directed towards Garrus. "Blood Pack? Seems to be their MO. I can't see Eclipse using physical methods - they're basically all asari and biotics. They probably would have tried to seduce you. No offense, Lantar," she added, laying a hand on his shoulder. The turian flinched at the contact and Garrus' gut twisted unpleasantly.

"None taken," Sidonis replied, clasping his hands in his lap. "This is by no means an excuse or recompense for what I did. They...they broke me. I was weak and I fucked up and they're all dead because of me."

Garrus held up a hand. The other male fell silent, and met his gaze. "Wallowing won't bring them back."

Shepard's brows shot up into her hairline, but Garrus ignored her.

"I've spent the past few months doing the exact same thing. Blaming myself, blaming you, being pissed at everything and everyone." He sighed and leaned his elbows on armored thighs, twisting his hands together. "But if recent events have taught me anything, it's that pointing fingers and hating just festers inside you. We all knew the risks going into this...some of us more than others." He let the silence stretch for a moment, a thousand different thoughts colliding in his mind. "From here, we can only move on."

Sidonis' mouth popped open, eyes wide. The smallest of smiles curled across Shepard's lips.

"Where are you staying?" Garrus asked the other male.

"I...there's this shelter, over on the other end of this ward. Sometimes I crash there. I have a few friends that let me sleep on their couches."

"You're homeless?" The question came out harsher than he had intended and Sidonis curled in on himself.

"Well it's not like I could come back to the Citadel and pick up where I left off. You may have gotten my record cleaned up, but I sure as hell didn't want you to know where I was or who I was staying with. You already tried to put a bullet in my head once. And...I didn't want them to find me again."

Garrus tapped his mouth with a finger thoughtfully. "You can stay here," he said. "I won't be around for a while, and it'll give you somewhere to hang your head and bathe. What have you been doing for work?"

It took a moment for Sidonis to find his voice again. "I've been doing bouncer work for a club up in the asari ward."

"Do you like it?"

The other male snorted. "Dealing with drunk idiots? Not really my cup of tea."

Garrus pulled up his omnitool. "I have a couple contacts in CSec who owe me a few favors. How would you feel about...public service work?"

"What? Me? A cop?"

"Lantar," Garrus said, the name feeling unfamiliar in his mouth. "You're the best heavy weapons specialist I've ever seen. You have ten years of military experience, not to mention all the shit we learned pissing around on Omega. Your knowledge of explosives is second to none. I'm sure CSec could use another veteran EOD member."

The other male stilled, hands clenched on his thighs and his mouth hanging open. "But...why? Why help me?"

"Because due to some recently acquired knowledge, your slate has been wiped clean. Again. And after Shepard and I are done with our mission, I need to know where to find you so we can figure out who kidnapped and tortured you."

Sidonis leaned forward, his head falling into his hands. "I don't deserve any of this, Garrus."

"That's the funny thing about being a cop," Garrus replied, standing and placing his empty meal tray on the counter. "You realize that all the shit you've done in life really isn't that bad compared to the idiots you deal with on a daily basis." He stood in front of Sidonis, hand outstretched. "Now. Are you ready to be a productive member of society?"

Sidonis studied his outstretched hand cautiously. "Is there a catch?"

"Yes," Shepard answered with a small smile. "You send us weekly reports of activity here on the Citadel. Preferably suspicious activity. Weapons movements. Government officials behaving bizarrely. Anything you feel is worth mentioning. Extra points if it has anything to do with Cerberus."

"I...I think I can handle that." He clasped Garrus' forearm and stood. "Shit. Garrus...thank you. And you too, Commander."

"Everyone deserves second chances," she replied, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. "If anyone knows that, it's me."

"Now, Lantar," Garrus said, pulling out his omnitool. "What size uniform do you think you wear?"


	19. Chapter VXII

"I think you and I need to have a discussion."

Shepard pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and took an unsteady seat on a crate, folding her arms across her chest. Garrus' back was to her, his lean form bent over the Thanix console. She watched as his spine straightened. It was almost imperceptible, but sure enough, the tension was there, traveling all the way up to his fringe as he turned to face her.

_What a dear face you have_, she thought, pulling her lips tight against her teeth. The low light of the forward battery threw harsh shadows across the scarred side of his jaw, making him look ominous – like the predator he was. The past three years had taken its toll on his physical appearance. Broader in the chest and shoulders, taller, his face harsher and more lined. Every time Shepard looked at him, she wondered who he would have been had their paths not crossed. Would he have left C-Sec for vigilantly work without the emotional throes of her death pushing him forward? Would he have settled down with a pretty turian female, and had children? Shepard straightened her own spine and set her jaw.

"A discussion, hmm?" he drawled, crossing his arms across his armored chest and tilting his head. "Perhaps about how you blindsided me with Lantar Sidonis? In my own apartment?"

Shepard let a small smile tug at the corners of her mouth. "Does anything I do surprise you anymore, Garrus?"

The turian closed his eyes and let out a sharp breathy laugh. "Honestly? No." He turned his gaze upward. "If you had told me a day ago I would be on speaking terms with Lanar Sidonis, I would have laughed in your face." His voice softened and he looked at her. "But, somehow, you find a way to make the impossible possible."

"You needed to put that part of your past to rest," she replied, pulling her back straighter. "Moving forward…making amends…"

"Suicide missions have that effect."

His tone was contrite, but Shepard felt emotion catch at the back of her throat. The gravity of their situation weighed heavily on her shoulders. To embrace the darkness of death again was a possible – and very probable – outcome of their task. But she had known death and the void it brought. And the thought of facing an eternity of darkness without Garrus at her side clutched tight at her heart.

"I need you to explain something for me," she said, pulling a knife from its place in her boot. "About why Lantar Sidonis wouldn't use my knife to eat his lunch."

Garrus cleared his throat nervously. "He uh…he wouldn't take it from you?"

Shepard flicked it open and tested the edge on her metal crate. "As a matter of fact he would not. He said he could not 'take the knife of another male's mate'."

He wrung his hands together and shuffled his feet apart. "I see. Well…uh…he's not wrong. In turian culture, especially those families that follow the older traditions, organization is important. As is bloodline, pomp and circumstance, appearances...Knives go way back as a symbol of joining. Marriage contracts, dowries, and it wasn't just for getting married. You – you give a knife to your commanding officer, as a sign of valor and as a way to pledge lifelong service to their cause. Or, mates exchange knives during a marriage ceremony, and wear them as a symbol of commitment." He coughed and rocked back against the battery console. "I suppose Sidonis mentioned I had uh…gotten a knife. For uh…for you?"

"He mentioned it," she replied nonchalant, watching Garrus shuffle his feet. Shepard leaned back and recalled Garrus as he was aboard the SR1. Slighter of build, a bit more hot-headed, a beacon of bright light ready to pledge himself to her service.

"Yeah I wanted to prove something to you, of course. I was young and naïve and I didn't know how to better thank you for taking a chance and letting me aboard your ship." He shook his head and sighed. "It was pretty silly, to expect a human to understand something like that."

There was a pause, filled with the soft white noise of the FTL drives. "I don't have it anymore," he added quietly, tugging at the neck of his armor. "In the…chaos of getting shot in the face by a rocket…"

Shepard pushed herself off the crate and closed the space between them, tugging his hands down and clutching them in her own. "You accepting me after seeing me in Cerberus armor, a walking ghost, working out of a Cerberus ship…that's all I can ask for, Garrus."

"You don't get it, Lana," he said, leaning down to touch his forehead against hers. "I _wanted_ to give you a knife because…well…" he tightened his hands around hers. "I wanted to give you a knife? Crap. Let me try that again. I wanted to give you a knife because I wanted to pledge my life and my service to you. And – and because I think, even back then, I wanted to give you a knife."

"What about now?" Shepard asked, tilting her chin up to rest her lips against his scarred mandible.

"Now?" he growled, pulling her closer. "If we survive this suicide mission and retain some semblance of normality, then yes. You can consider my knife yours."

"And mine yours," she replied, biting down on the side of his neck. "What else is involved in these...knife ceremonies?"

Garrus chuckled and ran his cheek against Shepard's ear, lips brushing the cartilage shell. "Well that depends. The knife selection itself is important. There are stores on Palaven that specialize in nothing but wedding knives. They're sold in pairs, and every single one is unique."

Shepard melted against him, curling her arms around the back of his neck. "No rings?"

"No rings. There are brands - ones that encircle the right forearm and rubbed with the male's color. Bite marks. And usually the female takes the male's colony markings."

"Ahhhh," she moaned softly, in part due to his teeth catching the soft skin behind her ear. "A brand. How...archaic."

"To you soft, squishy-skinned humans, maybe. But to us, just a permanent reminder of commitment worn on the flesh. Not much different than all those tattoos."

"Touche, Vakarian. Touche." Shepard ran her nails down the back of his head, eliciting a deep growl. "Now, are you done with your calibrations?"

"That depends," he said. "Are we done with our discussion?"

She smiled lazily and tilted her head back to look him in the eye. "I believe this discussion is best continued in my quarters. On the double, soldier."

Garrus stepped back and snapped her a sharp salute, complete with a wink.

"Aye aye, ma'am!"

* * *

**A/N: **Well...that was a much longer hiatus than anticipated. This summer I spent plenty of time doing all the things a college student does when they know it's their last summer of freedom. Hence...the lengthy absence. However, I am back, and I will be wrapping up this fic and continuing with Hiraeth. To those who messaged me asking me for updates, I apologize. You guys are so amazing and I really, really appreciate all the likes/follows/reviews. If you're curious as to what I'm up to outside of writing (or where I'm at with the next update), you can find me on tumblr at treesandturians.


	20. Chapter VXIII

_The single stupidest thing she had ever done._

Garrus slammed a fist down on the Thanix console in a rage. The computer squaked at the abuse, but he paid it no mind.

Lana had been missing for _forty-seven hours_.

A tendril of panic curled slick and cold in his stomach. She had left, in the middle of the night cycle, without even a note. No explanation, no, "I'll be back later". Half dressed, Garrus had taken to the bridge in an uncharacteristic display of anger - and judging by the look on Joker's face, the pilot was just as irritated with the Commander.

"A message came through from Hackett, and she took the shuttle and just _left!_" Joker shouted, throwing his arms up in fealty. "She didn't say anything to me, either, Garrus. Hell, the message was so covert even EDI can't find it."

"The Admiral had it purged from our databanks before it was even an object of interest," EDI's holo flickered. "I am currently attempting to back track the comm buoy from where it originated from - but to borrow a human phrase - it is like finding a needle in a haystack."

And so he paced. Back and forth in the forward battery, uttering an occasional expletive, pausing only to check his omnitool. Fear crept up his back, and the dread that had been chased away with her return loomed on the edge of his conscience. They were supposed to be open and _honest_ with each other. They were supposed to face these threats head on, _together_. He growled in frustration. Something must have been incredibly important for Lana to to leave without notice at Hackett's beck and call. For months she had been quietly letting her annoyance and discontent with the admiral stew. Every correspondence with him was met with a wrinkled brow, the line of her mouth tight and unhappy. She passed Cerberus intelligence to him after every mission without qualm, omitting nothing except their exact movements and their next plans. But as the months wore on, so did her trust for the Alliance. He could only guess that her discontent came with the blooming realization that she was technically no longer Alliance, and that realization came with the weight of learning, gradually, the Alliance had covered up the cause of her death. After years of service, dedication, being the face of their propaganda, the weapon they hurled at the most difficult problems, they had dismissed her mortality with a lie. Garrus didn't know who had told her, or how she had come about the information, but he could tell in the crease of her brow and the darkness that settled over her eyes whenever the Alliance was mentioned that she knew.

And so the mystery of why she would leave, unannounced and alone in the middle of the night on Admiral Hackett's orders was the black cloud hanging over the entire ship.

"Garrus."

Joker's voice crackled over the intercom. "EDI found the comm signal. We're just a relay jump away from where we _think _she went"

"I'll be right up."

The bridge was bathed in the light from a dim star, one that Garrus was not familiar with. Hundreds of asteroids floated out in front of the ship, peacefully, and the Normandy drifted on its own residual inertia. Garrus clenched his jaw at the sight.

"In the middle of an asteroid belt, of course," Joker growled, fingers flying over the controls. "Well, this is where the signal from the Kodiak was traced to. From here? Who knows."

Garrus grunted. "What do you mean, 'who knows?'"

Joker swiveled his chair to face the turian. "The last ping was from some thirty hours ago. We haven't found a signal since. So there's a chance she's entered an area where communications are being blocked -"

"Or the Kodiak has been destroyed," Garrus finished quietly.

"I mean, it would have to be one _hell _of an explosion to render the distress signal worthless," Joker said, forcing the corners of his mouth up. "We're talking utter inhalation of -"

"I know," Garrus snapped, placing a palm on the bulkhead near him. "I know," he repeated, quieter. "Have we received anything from Hackett?"

"Not a damn thing." The pilot scrubbed a shaky hand through his beard and Garrus knelt next to Joker's chair. "This is so stupid. So...unbelievably stupid. I didn't even think twice when she asked me to take the Normandy to the Viper Nebula. We've spent how many months tooling around the Terminus? She points, I drive, no questions asked. Unless it's...a volcano or something but I can't land this ship in atmo and -"

"Joker," Garrus said, giving the pilot a meaningful look. "Nobody is blaming you. This is all on her - it was her decision. As stupid as it was."

"I know." He slumped back in his chair with a soft sigh. "I just...shit. _Shit_. I don't want to get all sappy. But _shit _Garrus, I don't want to deal with her dying all over again. I don't - shit. I don't think I could do it."

Garrus stared at the dim orange light of the haptic interface. The memory of an inebriated Joker, confined to a wheelchair, arm in a sling over the rumpled fabric of his Alliance dress blues, quietly sobbing at Lana's pseudo funeral. Besides being the top Alliance soldier, the commander was a friend to her entire crew. She was the driving force behind a suicide mission, gathering a haphazard crew of individuals who would never have worked together of their own accord.

"You are not the only one, Joker."

* * *

Lantar Sidonis wiped a weary, gloved hand over his face and grimaced. The condensation from his bottle of alcohol had soaked through the fabric, leaving a damp line across his forehead.

Though he was off-duty, the turian was still in armor, and kept to the shadows of the bar where his C-Sec blue was not so vibrant in the dim lighting. It had been a long forty hours on, and he was looking forward to his forty hours off, but the last case of his shift had left him a bit spirit-sick.

Turians were, as a whole, a race that was linearly driven - duty, family, honor. The Hierarchy did a phenomenal job of instilling _purpose _into its candidates, along with stoppering whatever individuality a young candidate would have. The doctorate of honor ran so deep that the turian legal system was built almost entirely upon the backs of those who came forward and _confessed _their own crimes, often within hours of committing them. A male, in the heat of an argument and deep in a bottle of alcohol takes hands to his mate, and with the very next breath is calling the authorities to report himself for domestic violence.

But, with every sentient being, there were always outliers. The individuals that did not fit the mold. Lantar winced as he recalled the crime scene - a human woman lying prone on the floor of a penthouse apartment, entrails strewn around her like a halo of blood and gore, _the end is nigh _scrawled in a hasty hand on the wall behind her. The display itself was not what perturbed Lantar the most, but rather, the fact that it had clearly been done by a turian some days prior. DNA, footprints and video surveillance all pointed to it. But it had been days, and the culprit had not turned themselves in. In fact, the neighbors had reported a strange smell coming from the apartment to C-Sec. The woman had no next of kin, but acquaintances said she had been casually dating a human male for a few months.

Forensics would be taking care of finding a DNA match, but even with VI assistance, the results could take an entire day to find, so Lantar had left at the end of his forty hour shift with a heavy heart and a cold feeling in his gut. The honorable part of him hoped the culprit was apprehended and charged accordingly. The darker, harder part of him wanted to find them and kill them with his own two hands. He started a bit at the thought, and wondered why, of all the cases he had worked in the past six months, this one was sticking in his throat the most. Perhaps it was because the victim was human, and the culprit turian, and it had been less than a generation since the Relay 314 incident. Or perhaps it had to do with the victim's dark hair, spread in a sticky halo, floating in her own blood. Perhaps it was the darker tone of her skin against the pale white floor and the vibrant scarlet blood. Perhaps it was her striking resemblance to Shepard, the human woman who had stepped in front of the crosshairs for him not once, but twice.

Lantar tapped the bar for another beer and sat back, stretching. The thought of Shepard dead was something he was acutely _used _to, in a roundabout manner. He had known Garrus the entirety of the woman's stretch of...death, for lack of a better term. She had become an almost ethereal mascot of sorts, that spirit on Garrus' shoulder guiding him with a gentle hand. So when the rumors of her return had reached Omega, the rumors that she had materialized like a spirits be damned _pentrale _on their old base and rescued a hopeless Garrus, he had almost laughed. It was serendipitous, in a way that he _knew _the spirits themselves had intervened. And while Vakarian had kept a tight grip on his anger and grief, Lantar had seen the knife, had heard the other male in his sleep, and knew the truth.

Even on the shithole that was Omega, there was extranet access and often a lot of downtime. Lantar had accessed the records and he knew Garrus' history and his standing in the damned line of succession. High up enough that had he been any other turian, being in love with a human would have been considered almost treasonous.

And yet, their relationship held that little bit of spirit-touched intrigue to it as well. The kind that made Lantar fiercely protective of the idea of Shepard and Vakarian together, instead of reeling away from it in disgust. As if it was as essential as the breath he took to sustain his life. The success of their mission was of the utmost importance, as was their success _together. _Lantar knew that his old commander toed the line between being fully entrenched in life, but also one of the spiritless walking dead, those who were nothing but a body and rudimentary functions, moving through life as if there was no meaning. He had seen the darkness of it lurking behind Garrus' eyes on Omega, only to be beat down when he took command of his team. Shepard not only held the fate of the galaxy in her hands, but also the fate of Lantar's closest _friend_.

Yes, _friend_ was the word he would use now, _dare_ to use, in the context of Garrus Vakarian. Six months of sporadic communications back and forth...oh some had been shaky, curt and clipped and professional at first. But some had been hastily scrawled notes in the margins of reports that contained an inside joke, an anecdote, or a "_really good catch on that, Lantar. I might have missed it myself"_. And Lantar himself had been brazen enough to write back, using words that he never would have had the stomach to before, putting forth his most honest answers, not being afraid to argue a point. He had enough political intrigue to be able to keep up what the reports he pilfered from top-secret transmissions contained, and he had long ago stopped doubting that Garrus was just being friendly to appease Shepard. There was a real touch of the _old _Garrus in those messages that just could not be faked.

Lantar pulled at the cowl of his armor and let his eyes flicker to the vid screen hung above the bar - a vid screen that was bright with wide, important-looking text. Often, it was the usual sort of news - scrolling snippets in multiple languages of stock prices and currency rates. Lantar leaned forward, resting armored elbows on the bar, and pushed his drink aside in rapt attention.

"_We have just learned that the Batarian-held system of Bahak has been, for lack of a better phrase, obliterated. Reports coming out of the Terminus are currently pointing to the explosion of the system's local mass relay. The Alliance Navy is reporting that one of their scientific research bases was a casualty. While they cannot report on classified data, a source close to Admiral Hackett has told me that there is a chance that the Cerberus vessel _Normandy _was last spotted in the vicinity of the Viper Nebula. Whether this was the result of a catastrophic collision with an asteroid or space debris, or if this was an act of terrorism, we here at Westerlund news mourn for the approximately 300,000 inhabitants of the Bahak System."_

The news anchor continued to speak, but Lantar's ears were ringing too loudly for him to hear any more. With shaking fingers he opened up his omnitool to send the news link to Garrus, swallowed hard, and closed it. A bead of condensation dripped off the bottle of his drink and he put his head in his hands.

* * *

yes, I am back. I promise this story is NOT dead. I have graduated university, and am working full time, but I am currently taking an 8-week accelerated class which eats up a lot of my free time. HOWEVER, I am making an attempt to wrap up this fic and move on with updating the sequel on a much more regular basis.

THANK YOU to everyone who has stuck around for...over two freaking years. Y'all are amazing and I love each and every one of you.

If you would like to pester me, you can find me on tumblr. I am truck-shepard.


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